


The Storm's Song

by Aquilarion



Category: RWBY
Genre: Action, Adventure, Drama, Expanded lore, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Friendship, Not Fully Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Romance, Violence, crossposted to ff.net, long chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:29:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 47,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquilarion/pseuds/Aquilarion
Summary: "Destiny has a strange way of worming its way into our lives, Whitaker. It is a beautiful, chaotic thing. It saved my life. It brought you that sword. It made you a great Huntsman." Esmond's eyes hardened. "But make no mistake— Destiny can break you into a million pieces. It will shatter your dreams. Your hopes. Your future. However. You have the power to change Destiny. You are not bound by the complexity of its webs, Whitaker. Never forget that."
Relationships: Coco Adel/Original Character(s), Jaune Arc/Pyrrha Nikos, Lie Ren/Nora Valkyrie, Ruby Rose/Original Character(s), Yang Xiao Long & Original Character(s)
Kudos: 3





	1. EXTENDED LORE

**Author's Note:**

> This has been whirling around in my head for awhile now.
> 
> Enjoy.

This first chapter serves as a reference document for all of the lore that will be in this story. It also serves as a warning that not everything within  _ The Storm’s Song _ will be fully canon-compliant, as it is an AU. It will not strictly follow the canon storyline either.

Think of this chapter being a notes section for Whitaker. As the readers, you will know about as much as he knows. His information will not always be accurate, nor will it be 

That being said, for those who have not read the latest chapter, there are  **spoilers ahead** . If you haven’t read anything of this story,  **skip to the next chapter.**

**You have been warned.**

**Read the next/latest chapter before continuing on.**

**!Major Spoilers Ahead!**

**[;]**

###  Characters

This section of the document will be the home for any prominent OCs. They include short biographies as well as a detailing of their Semblances and weapons, should they have any. This list is likely to expand as the story continues.

**_Whitaker Ash_ **

The main protagonist of  _ The Storm’s Song _ . He is the son of Esmond and Aurelia Ash. He is determined, talented, and places duty above all else. He is the spitting image of his mother, with hair as white as snow, and eyes as blue as ice. He is, as of PROLOGUE - PHAROS, age seventeen (17). He wields LIGHTNING— twin, single-edge, curved blades that can be combined to form a single, longer blade. His Semblance is REFLEX— which empowers his natural reflexes, and, when activated, can allow him to react on a level that seems precognitive.

_ Recent Developments:  _ (1) also wields Lightbearer, (2) his Semblance is not as it seems… 

  
  


**_Esmond Ash_ **

The father of Whitaker Ash. He is headstrong, moral, and honest. He wields BLACK SUN— a wristband that can be expanded to form a round shield. His Semblance is BARRIER— a unique Semblance in that, with Black Sun, allows him to form an Aura barrier of any shape, size, and depth.

**_Aurelia Ash_ **

The mother of Whitaker Ash. She is motivated, stern, but warm. Sister to Willow Schnee, Aurelia Schnee left the Schnee family to be with Esmond Ash and raise a family of her own. She does not have her Aura unlocked, nor does she have a weapon.

**_Harros Vesta_ **

The Uniter of Solitas, the Firebrand, and a Wielder of Lightbearer.

**Corinth Olaris**

The Sword Mistress, the Blade of Mistral, and a Wielder of Lightbearer

**…** ****

**[;]**

###  Terms

This section will contain terms I have created and deem important enough to take note of, or terms that have since been changed from canon lore.

  
  


**_Huntsmen Classes_ **

Huntsmen Classes denote the general level aptitude of a Huntsman. These classes use the following letter ranking system: 

**A:** The highest Huntsmen Class. These are expert Huntsmen who have succeeded on numerous missions, and have years of experience underneath their belt. These Huntsmen have been recognized by their respective governments for their accomplishments, and the honor of being a Class A Huntsman is their reward.

**B:** The second-highest Huntsmen Class. These are Huntsmen who are generally regarded as equals to Class A Huntsmen, but have not been recognized by their respective governments.

**C:** Third-highest Huntsmen Class. This is the most populous Huntsmen Class, and where most Huntsmen spend the rest of their days.

**D:** This is the Class of Huntsmen that denotes a fledgling Huntsman. Generally, Class D Huntsmen are fresh graduates of a Huntsman Academy and have just gotten their licenses approved.

**_Missions_ **

There are five different classes of missions that are issued to Huntsmen.

  * _Rescue: These missions are issued to Class B or higher Huntsmen. Involves the rescue of one or more valued targets, which includes resources, civilians, or information._


  * Search: These missions are issued to Class C or higher Huntsmen. Involves the tracking and locating of valued targets, includes resources, civilians, or dangerous Grimm.


  * Destroy: These missions are issued to all Classes of Huntsmen. Involves the destruction of valued targets, includes Grimm or other dangers to humanity.


  * Quell: These missions are issued to all Classes of Huntsmen. Involves the reduction of negativity in a certain location to lower the attraction and birth-rate of Grimm in the area.


  * Escort: These missions are issued to all Classes of Huntsmen. Involves the protection of one or more valued targets from point A to point B. 



**_Silver Eyes_ **

Silver eyes, in  _ The Storm’s Song _ , are common knowledge. They are known to be renowned warriors, and it is known that they are able to “kill Grimm with a single look.” However, there is much more to an individual with silver eyes than just that. Mystery still shrouds this particular eye color, and no one really knows the true depths of its powers.

  
  


**_Grimm Corpses and Death_ **

When a Grimm dies, they leave behind nothing but their masks. No one is really sure why this occurs, but Huntsman and those who assign missions to the Huntsman have used the masks of Grimm as a way to confirm the completion of a  _ Destroy  _ mission.

**_The Lightbearer_ **

An artifact of great power, since lost to time. Currently wielded by  **Whitaker Ash** . It was previously wielded by  **Harros Vesta** . Stores the memories of its past wielders.

**_Light and Dark_ **

Two forces that have been at conflict since the creation of Remnant.

**_Creatures of Darkness_ **

Includes Shadows and the creatures of Grimm. Definitely more here...

**[;]**

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I really appreciate it. Please leave a review with your thoughts on it.

I have a Discord server dedicated to my works. Feel free to visit it. I post snippets of chapters of stories (both current and future) in it. Copy and paste the link below without spaces.

**https://dis cord. gg/uGn2wQa**


	2. PROLOGUE - PHAROS

Whitaker Ash, even in his youth, was never one to make a rash decision. But when he told his parents that he wanted to become a Huntsman, both of them took it rather differently.

“Esmond. You can’t seriously be thinking about this!” His mother, Aurelia Ash cold blue eyes glared daggers of ice at her husband. “You know better than all of us how dangerous it is to be a Hunter. He could die! Do you not realize that? Our baby boy could die!”

“I know!” Esmond slammed his fist on the dinner table. Whitaker heard a crashing sound as the table seemed to shatter beneath his father’s strength. He let out a deep breath. “Have some faith in him, love. Have some faith in me. I’ll take care of him.”

Aurelia sighed. “Do you really think he’ll be okay?”

Esmond nodded. “I’ll make sure he is.”

After that, Whitaker Ash tip-toed to his room, his heart incredibly heavy. The wood stairs creaked beneath his weight.

“Whitaker? Is that you?” his mother shouted.

Whitaker stood stock still, hoping to whatever gods were out there that his mother would not think to approach him.

“Whitaker, I know it’s you,” she said. “Come here.”

The boy pouted and walked into the kitchen. His mother’s cool blue gaze met his, and she smiled at him. Aurelia strode over to him and ran a hand through his stark white hair.

She mirrored his pout and then cupped her son’s cheek. “I was just worried about you. You know how dangerous Dad’s missions are.”

“I know,” Whitaker murmured. “But I can be as strong as him! I know I can. I’ll become strong so Mom doesn’t have to worry anymore.”

Aurelia smiled softly, her thumb carressing Whitaker’s cheek. “You’re so sweet. Thank you, Whitaker.” She stood up and rubbed the top of his head. “You can go now.”

Esmond observed from the other side of the kitchen as he filled a cup of water and sipped at it. Whitaker grinned at both of his parents and darted up the stairs.

Aurelia Ash was always the type of person that was hesitant to dip their toe into the water, even if they knew the water was warm because they were afraid of the possibility that it wasn’t. 

Whitaker was… glad for it, but he also hated it sometimes. His mother, due to her upbringing as a member of the exuberant and powerful Schnee family, was sheltered. She hadn’t seen much of the world, and it took Esmond Ash several years to finally convince her to marry him, to see the world. The marriage was done in secret, of course, as Nicholas Schnee would no doubt outright refuse to give his blessing to Esmond Ash, a Huntsman with little renown at the time, to marry his daughter.

After marrying his father, Aurelia effectively ran away from home. But none of it was from his father’s machinations, if anything Esmond would rather that Aurelia simply asked her father if she could leave. 

Nevertheless, Aurelia made for Vale, and after the two bought a house, they had Whitaker.

The Ash household was stern but warm. It didn’t mince words, nor did it enforce weakness. Whitaker belonged to a family of strong independents. His father instilled Whitaker with strong morals, and his mother taught him what it meant to be independent. Both Esmond and Aurelia had fruitful careers, and Whitaker had to do his best to not interrupt them when they were working. So, he walked home (after his mother taught him what roads to travel on and what roads to avoid), cooked and fed himself, did his own laundry, and studied by himself, all before he hit ten years old.

To say that Whitaker was responsible would be selling him short. He was more than responsible, he was reliable, independent, and the best child that Esmond and Aurelia could have asked for. But having so much independence caused problems, problems that went unnoticed by the busy-body parents that were Esmond and Aurelia Ash.

Whitaker, during his time in grade school, never gained a single friend, rarely interacted with his classmates, and spent most of his time with his nose between the pages of a book or his eyes on a worksheet. Sure, he finished quizzes the fastest, his projects were always scored to perfection, and he was held to the highest standards by his teachers and administrators, but when the white-haired boy was mentioned by his classmates, he was accompanied only by jealousy, harassment, and anger.

He was called a “suck-up,” a “pussy,” a “nerd.” Those were the lightest of the jeers that Whitaker received, but he didn’t dare tell his parents. Eventually, even that fell to the wayside as some teachers caught some students that were bullying Whitaker and called his parents.

The cool air snuck underneath the window of the principal’s office, causing Whitaker to shiver in his chair as he waited for his parents to arrive. His bullies sat to his left, the three boys shivering as well. The principal, Mr. Pray, filled out three white forms on his table, the rhythm of his pen movements against the black table pad soothed Whitaker.

A few minutes of complete silence later, the door pushed open. The principal’s assistant stood beside the door and ushered five other adults into the room. 

Aurelia Ash was the first into the room. Once she locked eyes with the three bullies, her blue orbs grew exponentially colder. Esmond followed after her, his own coffee brown eyes staring daggers into the students beside Whitaker. The bullies’ parents filed in, taking seats on the opposite side of the room as Aurelia and Esmond.

Mr. Pray cleared his throat when his assistant shut the door, he clicked his pen closed and methodically placed it on his desk. “Thank you for coming as soon as you could, parents.”

“Of course,” Aurelia said, her voice stern. She kept her eyes on Mr. Pray as she smiled slightly. “If only some parents taught their children respect and kindness, then we wouldn’t need to be here.”

Mr. Pray nodded and steepled his fingers. He motioned to Whitaker. “Young Mr. Ash here has been an absolute pleasure to have at our school. His grades are all perfect, he raises his hand often in class. He is essentially our school’s model student.”

“I am well aware of Whitaker’s success, but I don’t get the chance to speak with him as often as I would like,” Aurelia explained.

Whitaker mumbled something underneath his breath.

“What was that, Mr. Ash?”

Whitaker’s ears slowly turned red. “Nothing.”

“Well,” Mr. Pray continued, “I have called you parents here today because this is the largest case of bullying we have ever had on our campus. Three students all picking on one child is completely unheard of.”

“It wasn’t just us!” Adam Velasco shouted.

“Yeah,” Kyle Ollie continued, “it was a lot of other people too.”

“It was, like, all of Mrs. Brynn’s class,” finished Nera Thread.

“Can you give us names?” asked Mr. Pray, eyeing each of the kids.

Whitaker mentally smiled. He’d taken advantage of his intellect and committed each of his bullies’ names to memory. Fortunately, the list was short, and after months of ostracization and name- calling, Whitaker felt that revenge was deserved. He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by his father.

“It’s alright, Mr. Pray. Punishing these kids will be enough,” Esmond said, with a slight shake of his head towards Whitaker.

“I see,” Mr. Pray said. “Mr. Velasco, Mrs. Ollie, and Mrs. Thread, does this seem fair to you?”

The three parents nodded.

“Very well,” Mr. Pray picked up his pen and clicked it. “Adam, Kyle, and Nera will be forced to come into school early and stay at school late for community service, and they will also have to take remedial courses until the end of the year. Additionally, this shall appear as a strike in their permanent record.”

Once the meeting was done, Whitaker was free to go home.

“What did you whisper in there?” Aurelia asked as she took Whitaker’s backpack off his shoulders and placed it on the seat beside him.

Esmond started the car, looking back at Whitaker, waiting for him to answer. Aurelia climbed into the front passenger seat.

“You guys work too much,” Whitaker mumbled, looking out the window as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“We have to,” Aurelia attempted to explain.

“And you also have to take care of me,” Whitaker shot back.

“Don’t talk back to your mother like that—”

Whitaker grew angrier at his father’s scolding. As if he had any right to tell him what to do. “I’ll talk to her however I please, and you can’t tell me what to do either, this is the first time I’ve seen you in weeks, _Dad_.”

“Kid,” Esmond began, his knuckles white against the wheels of the car, “don’t _ever_ talk back to us.”

“Parent,” Whitaker spat, “don’t _ever_ tell me what to do.”

Esmond slammed on the breaks, sending Whitaker and Aurelia keeling over. He whirled around to face Whitaker, his eyes ablaze with unbeholden fury. “Get out. You’re walking home.”

Whitaker scoffed and shoved the car door open. “As if it’s any different from what I’ve been doing the last five months.” He slammed the door shut, a loud bang echoing throughout the neighborhood.

His father and mother drove off. Whitaker sat down, his back against one of the house’s fences. Tears pricked his eyes, but he blinked them away. When they didn’t go away, he grabbed the bottom of his shirt and furiously wiped his eyes. The tears eventually receded, and Whitaker continued walking home.

After that day, Whitaker and his parents warmed up to each other. His mother and father realized the error of their ways, and decided to spend more time at home. And while it was still far from resolving all of the problems that spawned as a result of spending so much time alone, Whitaker appreciated his parents’ willingness to change.

Shortly after grade school, Whitaker decided that he didn’t want to pursue academics. He wanted to become a Huntsman. Whitaker knew his limits. He always did, and he always would. He knew when he was ready for something, and when he wasn’t. And he knew he was ready to pursue being a Huntsman, even when he was ten or eleven years old. But it took his parents two years to fully grasp that idea, especially his mother. 

However, once he began to train with his father, Aurelia came around to accept that he was ready. 

#### [;]

On his first day at Pharos Academy, no one knew who he was, and he knew no one as well. Pharos Academy, unlike Signal Academy, was of a more modern architecture. The campus was essentially a single, massive, multi-floored building located south of the Forever Fall Forest. Floor-to-ceiling windows flooded the open All of Pharos’ facilities were located in the building; classrooms, training rooms, an amphitheatre, a gym, a cafeteria, a weapon forge, etc. 

Whitaker already familiarized himself with the campus. While the other first-years struggled to locate all of their classes in the nearly identical halls, even when referring to a map of Pharos, Whitaker maneuvered through the hallways as though he’d been attending the academy for three years.

Whitaker’s first year at Pharos was only marginally memorable. He attended classes, performed excellently in every one of them— Aura Theory, Creatures of Grimm, History, Weapon Theory, and Combat Class—, and had his Aura unlocked by his father during the second week of combat class.

“For it is in passing that we achieve immortality,” his father murmured with a hand on Whitaker’s shoulder. “Through this, become a paragon of virtue and glory to rise above all; infinite in distance and unbound by death. I release your soul, and by my shoulder protect thee.”

An impossibly thin red barrier formed around Whitaker’s body.

No one knew for sure how Aura worked. Not even Mr. Lionet, his Aura Theory teacher, had irrefutable proof of the systems of Aura. If anything, Aura Theory was closer to a fiction writing class than a science class. Regardless, Whitaker Ash had the complete opposite level of Aura that his father had. Esmond Ash was renowned in Vale as “The Tank” because of his massive aura reserves, and his ability to take a blow from an Ursa without even flinching.

Whitaker, at first, was concerned. But his father eased him.

“Having a large Aura isn’t everything,” Esmond began. “It makes the job only slightly easier. Being able to evade an attack is much better than letting your Aura take the hit. You can save those reserves for your Semblance. You just need to be good at dodging, Whitaker.”

And that’s exactly what Whitaker became. In tandem with the sparring matches that he got in class, he also sparred with his father at home.

During his first year, Whitaker found it difficult to grow steadily. His father, being a fully-realized Huntsman, was someone he knew he wasn’t going to beat any time soon, but his classmates were all incredibly weak compared to him. However, there was only a single spar that he remembered. It was against Coco Adel. The girl that everyone that was the strongest and could possibly win a match against Whitaker.

Esmond Ash stood off to the side of the arena, Scroll in hand. “Coco Adel and Whitaker Ash. Would both of you come to the stage?”

Whitaker followed behind Coco as she stepped up onto the platform. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“You will spar against each other. Obviously neither of you have forged your weapons, so this fight will be done hand-to-hand. The fight ends when one of you yields, when one of your Auras falls into the red, when I call the match, or when you yield. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mr. Ash,” Coco and Whitaker said simultaneously. 

“Good. Take your places.”

Coco stuck out a closed fist in Whitaker’s direction. “Good luck, Whitaker.”

“You too.” Whitaker fist-bumped her. But in the back of his mind, he knew that luck didn’t win battles, skills and strategy did. He took his place on the opposite side of the arena, bouncing on the balls of his feet, trying to loosen up. He took in a deep breath and then looked at Coco.

She stood still, her hands to her side, and her entire body at ease. She matched his gaze evenly and the two began to circle around each other.

Whitaker mentally grinned. Of all the things he’d studied in his short life, nothing excited him like a fight. To him, a real fight and a dance were one in the same. Two people, partners in a complicated series of steps, actions, reactions, and motions. Whitaker brought up his hands and closed them. In a fluid motion, he stepped forward and jabbed experimentally at Coco. Her hand came up and swatted it aside. 

She raised a brow at him. He shrugged.

The dance continued, both partners on equal footing as they traded blows. They tested each other’s strength, looking for any signs of an exploitable weakness. This wasn’t a furious battle, or a race to see who could pummel the other the fastest, as it often was when Whitaker’s classmates fought, this was a careful, calculated duel.

And Whitaker savored every second of it.

About thirty seconds into the fight, both of their Auras were in the yellow, perfectly even with one another. Whitaker dashed forward and threw a one-two punch at Coco, who parried aside both blows and cocked back her arm for a haymaker. But that was exactly the window that Whitaker was looking for. As her punch came through, Whitaker stepped inside her guard and grabbed the wrist of the haymaker arm with his left hand. He twisted it around so her arm was bent at an ungodly angle, and brought his right arm around her neck, he held her in a chokehold. 

As his grip tightened, Coco began to struggle against it, driving her elbow into his side. But every strike grew weaker and weaker.

“I yield,” she gurgled, tapping on Whitaker’s arm twice.

Whitaker released her, and she fell to the ground, gasping for air. Once she finally managed to draw in a breath, Whitaker helped her up. “Good fight,” he said.

Coco nodded. The two stared at each other for a time, and both knew exactly what their gazes meant.

This isn’t over.

“Well done, Whitaker,” Mr. Ash said. “And you did excellently Coco.” He looked out to the rest of the class. “Hopefully all of you learned a valuable lesson from this. Not every fight is meant to be won in the fastest, most brutal way possible. As Whitaker and Coco showed today, skills and strategy should come before strength.” He turned to the two fighters still on stage. “You two take it easy for the day. Head to the locker rooms to shower and change, if you want. The rest of you, pair up, and start practicing.”

After the fight, he and Coco went their separate ways. Whitaker smiled to himself as the turned on the shower. He would have to find her again and talk to her about becoming sparring partners. Their spar was, by far, the most productive spar he’d had. The tales of Coco Adel’s ability were mostly true, and that impressed Whitaker. No one else in his year had managed to stand that long in the arena against him.

Warm water sprayed out of the showerhead and onto Whitaker, relaxing the boy’s tense muscles and skin. He remained in the shower for a few more minutes as the heat of the water embraced him. Once he finished showering and drying himself, the bell for lunch rang.

Fortunately, lunch was the perfect time to find Coco. Whitaker wasn’t sure where she would be though, as he spent his lunches in the library. The Pharos Academy cafeteria was located on the south-side of the campus building, and was likely the largest singular space in the Academy itself. It was like any cafeteria Whitaker had seen; long,white tables occupied the central area of the cafeteria, with benches that rested length-wise on either side of the table.

While a majority of the students lined up for their food, trays on their hands, some students sat on the benches with their packed lunches unpacked before them.

Whitaker scanned the cafeteria for Coco, standing on the balls of his feet and narrowing his eyes as if it granted him better vision.

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. “Looking for someone?”

Whitaker turned around and came face-to-face with Coco Adel. He stepped back in surprise at the close proximity. He smiled sheepishly. “Uh, yeah, I was. How’d you know?”

“You talk to yourself,” she pointed out, and when Whitaker still appeared confused, she continued. “And you forgot that the showers are communal.”

“Oh. Right.” Whitaker glanced away, then looked back at Coco. “Anyways, did you want to train together after school today?”

“Of course, I think it would be a great opportunity.”

“Great opportunity?”

Coco grinned. “Well, to kick your ass, of course.”

In that moment, Whitaker knew he made the right call.

After that day, Whitaker and Coco began to consistently spar outside of class. The training rooms at Pharos were available and open for use to all students, but strangely enough, they were always unoccupied. The duo eventually settled for room 5-C; a spacious room, and the only one that had attached but separate showers.

“Do you think that—” Whitaker ducked underneath Coco’s high kick. “They’ll let us get out weapons early?”

Coco hopped back and shrugged. She dropped one hand to her waist. “Any reason you’re so eager to skip ahead?”

Whitaker realized they were taking a break and dropped his own hands. “What do you mean?”

“Well, last week you mentioned wanting to go on missions with your dad, and now you want to get your weapon early,” Coco explained. “So, why?”

“I feel like— I know that I’m ready for it.”

“The missions, or you weapon?”

“The weapon,” clarified Whitaker. “Going on missions seems like a little too much right now; especially because I still don’t know what my Semblance is.”

“Exactly,” Coco said. “What’s wrong with taking it a little slow?”

“Why take it slow when I know I don’t need to?” Whitaker countered, crossing his arms.

Coco sighed. “Witt, there’s a lot more to the world than just training, researching, and exercising. Live a little, y’know?”

She was beginning to sound like his mother before she accepted the reality that Whitaker was going to Pharos. Whitaker could understand her perspective, of course, Coco was correct; Remnant was a world of beauty with so much to be seen and experienced, but Whitaker wasn’t that kind of person. He wasn’t sentimental, nor was he eager to see what the world held for him. He had a simple goal, and he would do anything to achieve that goal. 

Maybe if Whitaker ever grew tired of being a Huntsman, he would follow his mother’s and Coco’s advice; but he knew that was unlikely, impossible, even. Sure, Whitaker had other skills and interests, but being a Huntsman was the only thing that felt rewarding to him. Academics hadn’t granted him his first friend, being a Huntsman did; so why stop?

Whitaker put up his hands and adjusted his stance. “Stop delaying to catch your breath. We have a spar to finish.”

Coco rolled her eyes.

#### [;]

Eventually, Whitaker's first year at Pharos Academy came to a close. As he told Coco, Whitaker spent his entire summer training, exercising, and studying up on Grimm. The most exciting moment during his entire summer was when he unlocked his Semblance during a spar against Esmond.

“Try and keep pace with me, kid.” Esmond kept his weapon, Black Sun, in its compact form: a black band around his wrist with a circle at its center. “We’ll be doing hand-to-hand. Rules are exactly the same way they are in class.”

“I know, Dad. We’ve done this before.”

“No harm in making sure you perfectly understand everything.” Esmond brought up his hands. “Ready?”

Whitaker did the same, adjusting the positioning of his feet. “Ready.”

As the bout began, the two fell into a rhythm. His father would attack, Whitaker would defend, and then the pace would increase. Slowly, but surely, Esmond increased the pace until Whitaker was moving faster than he expected. It was a perfect way to train for Whitaker specifically. His speed was the greatest advantage he had, and eventually even Esmond found it difficult to keep up with the pace that his son was moving at. 

Then, Whitaker’s Aura spiked. The entire world slowed to a crawl, his father’s incoming jab looked as though he were moving through a pool of molasses. Whitaker parried aside the attack and stepped into Esmond’s guard. As quick as lightning, Whitaker jammed his fists into his father’s chest.

The blow sent Esmond sprawling back and the world returning to its normal speed.

“What the hell was that?” His father asked, slowly standing.

“I… I think that was my Semblance.”

“Well, shit.” His father put his hands on his hips. “That’s pretty stupid.”

Whitaker pouted. “I’m sorry?”

“No, no, don’t apologize. Some Semblances are just stronger than others. Yours is definitely better than mine,” Esmond said, mumbling the last bit.

It dawned on Whitaker that he didn’t even know what his father’s Semblance was. “What’s your Semblance, Dad?” 

Esmond Ash flicked his left wrist. Black Sun spiraled out from the circle of his black wristband. It was a shield made of black metal, with a burning orange sphere protruding from its center. Esmond held Black Sun up to his chest, using his other hand to strengthen the block. “Black Sun allows me to channel my Aura into it, expanding its size. With my large reserves of Aura, I’m able to create a shield big enough to shield over fifty people.”

“From one side?”

Esmond shook his head. “My Semblance is being able to manipulate the dimensions of the shield. Dome, circle, wall, blockade, whatever space I need to cover, I can.”

Whitaker had the perfect face of awe. “What do you mean my Semblance is better? You can protect so many people with yours!”

“At the expense of myself.”

“But Dad—”

“I know, it sounds selfish. But if I lose my life, I won’t be able to protect more people.” Esmond sighed. “It’s kind of impractical to think of it like that, but it isn’t necessarily wrong either. And I’m not saying you need to think the same way as me, but I just want you to understand how I see things.”

“I think I get it.” Whitaker sat down. “What about my Semblance?”

“What about it?”

“What do you think it is?”

“Well, from what I saw, your eyes glowed for a second, and then you moved incredibly fast. You parried my attack and then punched me before I could even react.” Esmond sat across from Whitaker. “What did it look like from your end?”

“Everything became a lot slower. Like you were struggling to even move. It was weird.”

Esmond chuckled. “Of course it would enhance your reflexes.”

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Your paper thin Aura means that you can’t take that many hits. But luckily for you, your Semblance allows you to avoid nearly every attack that is thrown at you.”

“Oh…”

Esmond smiled. “I think you should hide it.”

“Hide it? Why?”

“Because your Semblance is exceptionally powerful,” explained Esmond. “The more people that know about your Semblance, the more abusable it is. But if you use it sparingly…”

“Then no one will know about it, and I have a trump card against them.”

Esmond grinned. “Exactly.”

“So how do I master it?” Whitaker asked.

“It should be second-nature to you since it’s so similar to how you fight already,” Esmond explained. “You should train your base reflexes, so we’ll do some dexterity and reflex training along with the usual stuff.”

With his Semblance unlocked, Whitaker grew exponentially stronger that summer. But Esmond reinforced the idea that he shouldn’t be a “one-trick pony,” or someone that relied purely on the strength of their Semblance. 

#### [;]

Once summer ended, second year rolled around. The warmth and hot air of summer became the cool, crisp of autumn. Whitaker and Coco sped ahead of the other students, quickly becoming the strongest by a sizable margin, with only Velvet Scarlatina being mentioned as a competitor for third strongest. However, it was still a tossup on who was the strongest between Whitaker and Coco. While Whitaker won their first match, all other matches between them seemed to be complete coinflips. On some days, Whitaker won, on others, it was Coco. But Whitaker had yet to reveal his Semblance to Coco. Only his father knew of it. And Whitaker preferred to keep it that way. At the same time though, Coco was a friend. He didn’t exactly want to keep secrets from her.

Anyways, their second year was the year that students were meant to forge their weapons. Whitaker was uncontrollably excited. And so was Coco.

“Do you have any ideas for what kind of weapon you want to make?”

“Nope! Do you?”

“I have a few ideas.” He’d worked with his dad on a few drafts and sketches of some possible weapons.

“Always a step ahead, huh? Let me guess, you unlocked your Semblance too?”

Whitaker chuckled, and rubbed the back of his head. “Definitely haven’t done that.”

Coco leaned forwards, the tip of her nose almost touching Whitaker’s. Then she pulled away. “I’m not sure why you’re hiding it from me.”

Whitaker shrugged. “Because it’s fun.

“Alright, you two,” called Mr. Ash as he held open the door to the forge. “Save the couple stuff for later.” A smirk slowly grew on Esmond’s face as Whitaker and Coco loudly protested against the idea of being together. Both of them stepped inside the forge, following the rest of the class.

The room was easily amongst the largest in Pharos. It was a single, long hallway with its width divided in two by a black divider. Placed along the walls were computers, complete with a mouse, a keyboard, a tablet, and a pen atop the tables.

“All right everyone. Follow me.” Esmond guided the class through the room, and towards a central computer with a large, see-through attached to it. “Have a seat.”

Everyone sat on the floor, noticeably excited.

“Now, I’m sure that each of you have dreamt about this day. But we won’t be forging anything today. Today, we will be reading.”

There was a collective groan.

But Whitaker knew why, so he didn’t complain.

“I understand that it might sound boring, but it is incredibly important that you know how weapons work.” There was some mumbling about the class. “Which is exactly why you have a weapons class.”

Coco raised her hand, and Esmond called on her. “Are we going to be forging in this class? Or in weapon’s class?”

“Good question. You’ll be forging in this class.” Esmond smiled. “All right. First, we’ll do research on weapons as famous as the Huntsmen and Huntresses that used them.”

That didn’t sound too bad.

“Pair up, and use the computers to answer the questions to this worksheet.” Mr. Ash held up a two-sided paper full of questions. “And yes, it will be due at the end of class.” He began to pass out the paper to the pairs, letting them go once they told him who they were partnered with. He reached Whitaker and Coco, and sighed. “You two are really inseparable, huh.”

Coco grinned and threw him a thumbs-up, while Whitaker beamed.

Whitaker and Coco sped off to a computer. As it booted up, Whitaker wrote down what he already knew.

 _What was Maria Calavera’s weapon called?_ Life and Death.

 _What are the known forms of Maria Calavera’s weapons?_ Kama, Double-kama, and a Walking Stick.

The rest of the worksheet continued as such. It contained many questions regarding legendary silver-eyed warriors. 

Whitaker tapped Coco’s shoulder. “How strong do you think Maria Calavera was?”

“Probably super strong. She had silver eyes. You know, Huntsmen with those eyes could—”

“Kill Grimm with a single look.” Whitaker sighed.

“What?”

“It’s not fair.”

“What do you mean?”

“People with silver eyes are so powerful that it feels like all the work that we put in doesn’t matter.”

Coco shook her head. “The last known silver-eyed warrior was Summer Rose, and she was reported missing a few weeks ago. They’re not unkillable, they’re still human. Like us”

“I guess.”

Coco smiled. “Let’s finish this up.”

The day flew by, and he and Coco met at a training room to begin their daily spar.

Coco stretched her arms, extending them over her head. “So, did you discover your Semblance?”

Whitaker sighed. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

“You can try, but I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Fair enough.”

“So what is it?” asked Coco.

“Spar me and you’ll see.”

Coco scoffed and brought up her hands. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Trust me, Coco,” he said, grinning. Whitaker brought up his own guard. “There’s a reason why I’m so cocky right now.”

And she soon realized why. The moment she threw the first punch, it was only a split second before Whitaker parried aside her attack and jabbed her twice in the gut before wheeling around and delivering a kick straight to her cheek.

The attack sent the girl back and rolling onto the ground. One hand rubbed her cheek and the other the back as she spoke.“Gods, that was…”

“Fast?”

“Your Semblance is speed, isn’t it?” Coco asked as Whitaker helped her up.

“You could say that.” He leaned closer to her. “But it’s actually enhanced reflexes,” he whispered.

“That’s stupid.”

“That’s almost exactly what my dad said.”

“So you can avoid anything?”

“Yup!  
“Wow. What if my Semblance is awful?”

“If you keep thinking like that, it will be.” Whitaker grinned. “C’mon. I’ll be sure to not use my Semblance this time.”

“Sure, whatever,” Coco grumbled. “You give a man some power…”

The two friends continued their spar.

Every day at school was mostly the same: going to class, eating lunch, doing weapons research, exercising and sparring with Coco. He and Coco trained so extensively, that they sometimes stayed an extra two hours after classes ended. The days they did spend those extra two hours were on the days that Esmond was forced to stay at school for teacher meetings and assessments. 

One day, during a drive back home, his dad asked him something. 

“Whitaker.”

“Yes, Dad?” The teen looked up from his Scroll, his gaze flickering between his father, the Scroll, and the road ahead of him.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Coco.”

“Well, I am friends with her.” Whitaker powered the Scroll down, placed it on the dashboard, and sat up.

Esmond rolled his eyes. “You do realize the entire school, including most of the teachers, think you two are dating.”

“Really?” Whitaker looked stunned. “But I’m just friends with her!” As if on queue, his Scroll buzzed, revealing a text from Coco asking him if he was home yet. He groaned and flipped the screen face down.

His father laughed heartily. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I get it. I’m rooting for you two.”

“Dad!”

Esmond laughed again. “Anyways, are you going to attend Beacon?”

Whitaker stared silently at him.

“Huntsman academy of Vale? Big tower in the east?”

“I know what Beacon is, Dad. But…”

“You’re not sure if you want to go.”

Whitaker nodded.

“Why not?”

“I want to go on missions with you. I’m tired of sparring.” He looked up at his father. Icey blue fire seemed to burn brightly behind his eyes. “I want to fight Grimm.”

“No.”

“No? But I’m ready! You know how strong I am. I—”

“Have only been training for half a year! You don’t even have a weapon, and you’ve only recently unlocked your Semblance! You are not ready, Whitaker. You are far, far, from it!”

Whitaker flinched. He nodded, turning away from his dad and looking out the window. The street suddenly became very interesting, and tense silence filled the air. Whitaker opened and closed his mouth numerous times, trying to form the correct sentence.

He understood why his father responded the way he did. Dad was only trying to protect him. But… 

“So,” Whitaker began after a long silence, “when I’ve mastered my Semblance, built Lightning, and gotten stronger, you’ll let me come with you?”

Esmond took in a deep breath. And then he let out a long sigh. “Sure. But I’ll be the one to determine that, alright?”

“You swear?” Whitaker asked, glaring at his father.

“I swear on my life,” Esmond said with finality.

#### [;]

In the months that followed, Whitaker trained intensively. Day-in, day-out, he was either exercising, sparring, studying up on all manner of Grimm, sketching designs for Lightning, or doing classwork and homework. And he still wanted to train more. He created a petition to waive his attendance in class so that he could spend time in the training room. It was declined, of course, but only because his father stepped in. Esmond scolded him heavily for it too, reminding Whitaker that a Huntsman was not a warrior of pure muscle and speed, research and knowledge was also an important factor of succeeding on any given mission.

Even Coco was bothered by how much he was training.

“Take a break, Witt.”

Whitaker shook his head in the middle of a pull-up rep. Sweat from his mop of white hair sprayed everywhere. “Not a chance.”

“You’re dead-set on going on a mission, huh?”

“There’s no experience like it.” He let go of the bar and dropped to the floor. “Even at an academy like Beacon.”

“Gonna leave little old me to fend for myself?” Coco asked, leaning more weight on one leg and sticking out her hips. She pouted and leaned towards Witt, giving him a momentary glance at her cleavage. “Who’s going to protect me if all the guys keep hitting on me?” 

This was a more recent development. Coco had recently turned on the charm. Despite having only known her for a year, Whitaker noticed how much she… grew during that year.

Her hips had gotten wider, and she had a well-sized bust. Not to mention her long, smooth legs which looked absolutely gorgeous when she wore spandex. And it wasn’t just her legs that looked great in spandex, it was her a—

“Should I be worried, Witt?” She asked. There was a ghost of a smile on her face. “You’re spending an awful long time looking at my boobs.”

Whitaker rolled his eyes and stood up. “The Coco I know will be fine. She can protect herself. And don’t call me out on staring at you just put yourself out like that.”

The girl— Whitaker wondered if she even classified as that— pouted like a child.

“Well,” she said, watching as he began to jog around the room. “I’m going to miss you.”

“It’ll just be a year. And then I’ll be there at Beacon.”

“If you convince your dad to let you come.”

“It’s a matter of when, Coco, not if.”

“Someone’s confident.”

“A wise man once said, ‘Self-doubt breeds self-destruction.’”

Coco looked at him incredulously. “What man said that?”

Witt smirked. “Me.”

#### [;]

The temperature grew colder as orange and red leaves fell from their trees. Fall became winter, but Whitaker Ash continued his regimen of non-stop training, exercising, practicing, researching, and studying. Even over winter break, Whitaker did his best to come up with excuses to not attend familial festivities and instead spent that time training.

Coco was beginning to get seriously concerned.

“Whitaker,” she said over the phone, her voice laden with quiet fury. 

“Today’s the day,” Coco bubbled. “You excited?”

Whitaker grinned. “Yup! Finally get to put Lightning together.”

“Like Lightning will be any match against Gianduja.” Coco beamed.

Coco discovered her Semblance during winter break when she found her father’s stash of Dust that he took from when he was assigned a mission. Coco could amplify the effects of Dust, so it made perfect sense that her weapon would be a gun. However, Coco hadn’t told him anything else other than that.

The duo followed the rest of the class into the forge.

There was an air of excitement. Weapon-forging day was basically one of the most important days in a Huntsman’s life. It was the day that a Huntsman earned a part of their identity. As Whitaker understood it, the weapon you held in your hands could have a greater reputation than you, it was a part of who you were, what you stood for. A sword meant you were an attacker, unafraid to charge forward and take blows, but also to deal damage and be rid of the problems ahead of you. 

“Alright!” Mr. Ash shouted. “Everyone get on a computer and upload your designs to the central computer. You should have been working on your designs the whole term. And if you haven’t… Start now.”

Whitaker and Coco rushed to an open computer, and uploaded their designs.

“Whitaker Ash, and Coco Adel. I have your designs. Do either of you care whose gets forged first?”

The two looked at each other, then at Esmond, and shook their heads.

“Ladies first then.” Mr. Ash uploaded Witt’s design.

Coco giggled.

Both Whitaker and Coco watched Whitaker’s weapon be forged. 

The central computer uploaded the designs to the forge, and the forge whirred to life. The large black box in the center of the room next to the computer slowly lifted. It revealed a black table and several thin, metallic arms with numerous tools on their ends.

As the arms began to shave down the metal and shape Lightning, Coco watched as Witt’s weapons were revealed to be two swords that curved back slightly, with only a single, sharpened edge.

As the forge finished creating the weapon, it painted the side of the blade that curved inward a dark shade of blue. And the cutting end of the blades a blue the same color as Whitaker’s eyes.

The machine pinged, and indicated that the weapon was finished.

Esmond nodded to Whitaker.

The white-haired teen grabbed his weapon and grinned. He brought both swords together, and they snapped together. There was a whirring sound, and the blade extended from its tip and pommel.

Coco whistled. “Nice.”

Whitaker winked at her.

The rest of the class followed. When Coco’s weapon was finished, he couldn’t help but sigh. Of course, it was a golden minigun trapped in a designer handbag.

Once class was over, Whitaker and Coco sprinted to the training rooms. With their weapons only having just been made, they were ineffective with it. They wanted to get a head start.

As the second year came to a close, Coco and Whitaker began to prepare for their third and final year at Pharos.

#### [;]

“You know,” Coco began, “you’d think that our last year at Pharos would be something grand. But I’m sad.”

“Just sad?” Whitaker asked. He and Coco sat next to each other in the training room, completely covered in sweat, taking a break from the exercise. “I thought it’d be more bittersweet.”

“No,” she interjected, glancing at him. “Just sad.”

Whitaker smiled sadly at her. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Idiot.”

“You know, the offer still stands.”

Coco shook her head, her coffee-colored hair that she’d put in a bun atop her head wiggled. “I know I’m not ready. And I want to get through Beacon first.”

“Whatever you say,” Witt said. He didn’t buy it. She was still as strong as he was. But… it was her decision. The white-haired teen stood up. “C’mon, one more round.”

Throughout the year since he’d unlocked his Semblance, which he’d affectionately called Reflex, Whitaker changed the way he used it. Initially, he used it as a form of retaliation, a counter-attack when an opponent made a fatal mistake. But now he used it as a method of avoidance. He used Reflex sparingly, only to save himself from a truly unavoidable attack, or a mistake on his part. Fortunately, his base reflexes were already fantastic, no doubt a result of his Semblance.

Whita

Until the end of the year, Whitaker trained harder than ever before. The only moments he rested was when he slept, or when Coco told him to.

“Witt,” Esmond called at the end of combat class during the last week of school. “Meet me in training room B-7 at around 3:30.”

“Okay.” Whitaker watched his father leave. He grinned at Coco. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck doesn’t win fights,” Coco began.

“Skills and strategy do,” finished Witt.

“But…” Coco glanced around, and after seeing that she and Witt were the only ones left in the room, she stepped closer to him.

“Coco?”

The young woman stood up on her tippy-toes and met Witt’s gaze. Amber locked with blue. She grabbed both sides of Whitaker’s face and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Lightning rushed through Whitaker’s brain, sending him on overload. He attempted to kiss back, before quickly realizing that he had no idea how to kiss. He also realized just how soft and full Coco’s lips were.

Coco pressed herself against him harder, before pulling away.

“I—”

She slapped him. The resounding crack echoed in the room. “Idiot.”

“Why did you do that?”

Coco raised her hand again and Whitaker flinched. “Are— are you serious?!” Coco stomped towards him. “I like you! I’ve liked you as more than a friend for almost two years now!” She emphasized every word by poking her perfectly manicured finger into his chest. “I’d have half the heart to lock you in a training room with me and tell you to just sleep with me right then and there.”

Whitaker’s pale face suddenly became as red as a cherry. His mouth had suddenly become very dry, and another part of him suddenly became very— Down boy!

Coco’s face soon followed after realizing what she’d just said. “I— I just wanted to express how I felt before you went off with your dad for a year.” She looked away. For the first time in years, Coco looked nervous. “Do… do you feel the same way about me?”

Whitaker stared at his nervous, fidgeting friend. Almost every day spent in the training room, exercising, sparring, relaxing, chatting. He’d learned so much about her. She was confident, proud, driven, and strong— characteristics that she prided herself in greatly, and what she knew the rest of the students saw her as. But she’d also told him of her insecurities. She never liked her body, she hated her father and his family, that he was the first one to make her truly feel accepted, that she knew exactly what she was doing whenever she made boys stare at her.

Whitaker had no idea what being in a relationship entailed. “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never dated anyone. I wouldn’t know what to do.” Whitaker bit his lip. “You deserve someone better.”

Coco flinched. “What?”

“Coco… you don’t know me,” Whitaker continued. “And there’s nothing wrong with that, but I think the Witt you have in your head is better than the real one.” He chuckled mirthlessly. 

“And how would you know what I’m thinking?” Coco muttered. “Can you read my mind, Whitaker? No? I thought so.” She stepped closer and leaned her head against his chest. “I want to know you better. I want to understand you. I like you, Witt. A lot. More than you realize.”

“But—”

She put a finger on his lips. “But nothing.” She looked up at him, her bright amber eyes shimmering. “You have a year to think about it.” She kissed him again and hopped away from him. “I’ll be waiting.” And without another word, she left him alone in the classroom.

#### [;]

“You look distracted,” Esmond said once Whitaker entered the training room.

“You’ve only seen my face for less than ten seconds.”

“You’re my son. I know you.”

You don’t know me. Witt shook his head. “Yeah. Let’s just get this over with.”

Esmond raised a brow, but didn’t say anything. He activated Black Sun and motioned for Witt to stand in front of him. “Sync your Scroll.”

“I know, Dad.” Whitaker synced his Scroll to the Aura tracker.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Esmond lifted Black Sun and motioned for Whitaker to come at him. Whitaker sprinted towards him, and in one swift motion, unsheathed Lightning and slashed at Esmond.

Whitaker immediately knew that he was out of his league. His father was a well-trained, experienced, and skilled Huntsman. And he was a fool to think that he could stand a chance against him. But he fought on. Utilizing his Semblance, Reflex, to its maximum capabilities, dodging nearly every attack his father threw at him.

Yet his mind wandered to his beautiful amber-eyed friend.

 _You have a year to think about it._ _I’ll be waiting._

Her words echoed in his mind like a bell. And the electric sensation of her lips against his—

Black Sun rammed straight into his stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending Whitaker fifteen feet back.

“You’re distracted,” Esmond said.

“I…”

Esmond approached his son. He extended a hand to the grounded boy. “Whitaker. You won’t be able to fight me if you’re losing track of yourself.”

Witt growled, but accepted the hand nonetheless. With his father’s help, he rose to his feet. He walked to the edge of the arena and sat on the stands. He sheathed Lightning. “There’s a lot going through my head.” 

“Coco?”

“I… Yeah.”

“Did she kiss you?”

“How do you even—”

“I was a teenager once,” Esmond asserted. He collapsed Black Sun and took a seat beside Witt. “Your mother was a particularly difficult catch, but she was definitely worth it. It took me years to—”

“Finally convince you to marry her,” Whitaker finished. “I know, Dad. You’ve told this story so many times.”

Esmond chuckled. “What did she say?”

“That she’d wait for me to figure it out,” he recounted. “And then she left.”

“She left?”

Witt nodded.

“Gods, she must be pissed at you.”

“Dad. That doesn’t help. At all.”

“Sorry.” Esmond lost his smile. “What’d you say to her?”

“That I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure. I’ve never dated anyone before.” Whitaker sighed. “I also said that she ‘deserved better.’”

“You never say that. When a woman wants you, then she wants you,” Esmond explained. “Let me give you the most important lesson you’ll ever learn about a woman. If she knew she deserved better, then she wouldn’t have chosen you.”

“Wish I’d known that before I told her.”

Esmond chuckled. “Life’s all about learning from your mistakes, kid. So, do you still want to go on missions with me?”

“I didn’t think the offer still stood.”

“You’re strong, but I think it’s best for you to go to Beacon. But if you want to come, I won’t stop you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re a terrible parent, or a great one.”

“Then settle for a little of both.” Esmond stood up. “I’m going to the car. Message me on my Scroll when you want to go home.”

“Yeah.” Whitaker leaned back.

He wasn’t sure what to think. The situation with Coco sent him sprawling mentally. He didn’t want to choose between his friend and his future. 

What if she could be a part of that future? 

Whitaker shook his head. He was only sixteen. It was way too early to consider that sort of thing. Whatever feelings Coco bore for him were likely only a result of her hormones. It made sense. He and Coco had spent nearly every day of the last three years together. To not harbor feelings for someone seen and spoken too that often would be hard. 

Whitaker couldn’t help but feel that Coco was more emotionally mature than that. Regardless of what he felt, he still had to choose. 

Spend a year in the field with his father, training and getting firsthand experience of life as a Huntsman, or go to Beacon with Coco.

He weighed them heavily.

Then, the white-haired boy stood up and pulled out his Scroll. He called his father.

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to go with you.”

There was a pause. “And you’re sure?”

Whitaker’s blue eyes hardened. “I’m sure.”


	3. CHAPTER ONE - THE LIFE OF A HUNTSMAN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy.

“I’m still surprised that Whitaker didn’t come to Beacon.”

Coco did her best to chuckle at Velvet’s observation. It had been six months since she entered Beacon, and it’d been six months since she last heard from Witt. The difference from Pharos Academy and Beacon Academy was mind-boggling. Beacon’s campus was nearly triple the size of Pharos’, not to mention how many more students there were and how even of a playing ground it was.

Every student at Beacon was around the same skill level. Of course, some students stood out, namely Team CFVY, Team IRON, and Team VRDT. After the entrance exam, Coco was placed on a team with Fox Alistair, Velvet Scarlatina, and Yatsuhashi Daichi, forming Team CFVY.

Fox was an interesting person to say the least. He was quiet and reserved at first, but after the first couple months, he quickly opened up to the rest of Team CFVY. He even went so far as to make a few jokes about his blindness. And he was as quiet as a… well, a fox, when the team needed him to be.

Velvet, an acquaintance from Pharos Academy, was the friendliest of the four. The bunny-eared faunus was the first to openly approach Coco, stating that the amber-eyed girl was a huge inspiration to her during their time at Pharos. And Velvet’s weapon and Semblance were definitely among the most interesting things Coco had seen in her time at Pharos.

Yatsuhashi proved to be the silent, stoic type that Coco originally pegged him as. Despite that, the broad-shouldered boy had a harsh protective streak, something that would prove invaluable given how feeble the rest of Team CFVY was. 

“Well, he made his choice.” Coco sat down on her bed in Team CFVY’s dorm. Sharing a room with two boys still freaked her out; definitely less than it did three months ago, but it was still slightly uncomfortable. She treasured the moments when only she and Velvet were present in the room.

“Has he contacted you at all?” Velvet asked, one of her ears lied on the top of her head.

Coco shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him since promotion.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“You two were dating, right?”

Coco sputtered, her face turning crimson. “We were only friends.”

Velvet’s eyes narrowed, her gaze becoming almost lazy. “Really now?” Her accent only made the sarcasm even more apparent. Fox would’ve appreciated it.

Coco raised her hands in surrender. “Really.” She laid back on the bed and pulled a pillow close to her, hugging it against her chest.

Velvet waved a hand in Coco’s direction. “It doesn’t look like it.” The faunus laid down beside Coco. “If anything, it looks like you’re still crushing on him.”

Coco flushed. She coughed into the pillow. “It’s complicated. I was a little late in confessing to him. It was poorly timed.”

“Poorly timed?”

“It was the same day that he was going to face his father and decide whether or not he would try becoming a Huntsman for a year.”

Velvet facepalmed. “Seriously?” The bunny-eared faunus groaned at Coco’s small nod. “I’ve seen you flirt with guys and have them eating out of the palm of your hand in minutes! How did it take you so long to confess to him?”

“I was younger, alright?” Coco pleaded. “Things were different then.”

Velvet sighed. “Still. I thought you two were already dating by second-year.”

“I wish,” Coco said. “But that’s in the past. I have to look forward now.”

The door to the dorm opened, and Fox and Yatsuhashi stepped into the room.

“Yeah,” Velvet murmured into Coco’s ear. “Look forward to those readings that Oobleck gave us.”

Coco groaned.

####  **[;]**

“It’s about time you messaged her,” Esmond said, stoking the campfire with a stick. “It’s been six months.”

Whitaker rolled out his sleeping bag, completely ignoring what his father said. Not that it didn’t go unheard. He’d made his choice. She was likely busy with Beacon as well, and he couldn’t have his unresolved feelings for her distract him. And it wasn’t like he’d had much time to think about romance. 

There were more important things than that.

“Just leave it, Dad. We’re on a mission.”

“Right.” Esmond unfurled his own sleeping bag, laying it opposite his son’s. “Do you remember the briefing?”

“We’re responding to a call in Patch,” recited Witt. “We’re to report to Huntsman Xiao Long and follow his orders. After he decides that our mission is complete, we’re to report back to the Vale Council.”

“Well done.” Esmond sat on his sleeping bag.

Whitaker sat in front of the fire, staring at it. The last six months had been eye-opening, but incredibly exciting. He’d fought Grimm, criminals, and even the White Fang. His first mission was a complete catastrophe, his father expected it to be a failure and informed him of its low-risk nature. No citizens of Vale were harmed. Luckily. 

Whitaker’s next few missions took him all across the kingdom of Vale. Namely Verdant— a settlement south-west of the city of Vale— Mountain Glenn, and now Patch.

####  **[;]**

His first mission was to locate the source of negativity in Verdant that the Grimm were attracted to, and either eliminate the source or remove it from the grounds of the town. After doing some investigating and questioning, Whitaker noticed that the faunus population of the settlement was extremely uncooperative, even going so far as to criticize his assignment and role as a Huntsman.

With a little help from his father, Whitaker tracked down the source of negativity: a White Fang safehouse; not its location, but its existence. It was more than surprising, considering the relatively small population of Verdant. But if the organisation could plant its roots in Verdant, there was no doubt that they would be in other small settlements too. In order to root out the safe house, Whitaker and Esmond infiltrated the safehouse during the night. Thanks to his studies, Whitaker knew that faunus had near-perfect vision at night. Their clothing didn’t matter, and neither did the cover of night. But they chose to sneak into the safe house at the time not because it would help them escape the faunus, but because it would let them expose the safehouse.

It was a risky play to expose the safehouse at that time. It would’ve attracted even more Grimm and put the citizens in danger.

When Whitaker first brought it up to his father, Esmond disapproved. Highly. He called it “callous, brash, and un-Huntsman-like.” Eventually, when his father realized that there was no other alternative and decided to hear his son out. First, they scouted out the safehouse. Whitaker, during the initial investigation, saw several crates of Dust being transported by faunus into a warehouse near the western edge of the city about a mile off the coast.

“Do you think that’s the safehouse?” Whitaker tested.

Esmond shook his head, looking down at a map of Verdant. “It’s too obvious. It’s just the middle-man between wherever they’re getting the Dust and wherever they’re actually keeping it.”

“Would it hurt to scout out?” asked Whitaker.

“It’s too risky. And I’m fairly sure that my assumption is correct.”

“Then what’s next?” 

Esmond clenched his jaw. “We hope for the best.”

Under the cover of night, Esmond and Whitaker trailed the next shipment of Dust to the exact location of the warehouse. Whitaker spotted the white and black uniforms of the White Fang outside of the warehouse after an hour.

“I count three— no, four White Fang. Two with small-arms, two with rifles,” Whitaker whispered to Esmond as he whipped back behind the wall. The warehouse was about two-hundred feet out from them; the inside was pitch black, the only available light is the light of Remnant’s shattered moon.

“There’s more.”

“No, shit, Dad.”

Esmond gave Whitaker a glare, but returned his focus to the task at hand. “I’ll go up—”

Whitaker put his hand up. He smiled in an attempt to calm down his rapidly beating heart. “I’ll do it. My Semblance makes it easier for me to deal with mistakes. Just wait out here.”

“Just remember the plan, kid.”

“If the plan doesn’t work?”

“Then we move to Plan C.”

Whitaker paused. “We never talked about a Plan C. What’s Plan C?”

Esmond grimaced. “Clear house.”

Without another word, Whitaker disappeared into the darkness and headed towards the warehouse. He wasn’t sure where the confidence came from. But he already told his father that he would do it. No point in going back on his word now.

Witt neared the warehouse. His heart pounded against his chest. Whitaker waited with bated breath as a White Fang guard stood in front of the entrance to the warehouse. As the guard eventually moved on, Witt snuck past him and into the warehouse proper.

Whitaker pushed past the warehouse doors, wincing as they creaked open. He quickly entered and hugged the nearest wall. Despite the lack of light, Whitaker saw vague outlines of shapes that roamed the warehouse. Luckily for him, shipping containers were stacked high enough that anyone on the upper floors wouldn’t be able to see him, and, as far as Whitaker could tell, the containers themselves were arranged in a maze-like pattern.

He left Lightning in its sheath, putting his back to a nearby container and trepidatiously stepping alongside the container. If he remembered correctly, he came in through the western entrance, meaning the harbor entrance was on the opposite side of him. He needed to get to the other side and to see the full extent of the White Fang operation.

Whitaker stopped at the end of the container and peeked around the corner. It was another hallway, one side made of the containers and the other of the warehouse’s walls. As he moved around the corner, he spotted the logo of the Schnee Dust Company. Taking another look around, he realized that the first floor of the warehouse was filled with crates of Dust. 

Enough to blow Verdant off the map if it exploded.

_ Fuck. _ Whitaker unsheathed Lightning. He needed to get back to his father so that they could deal with it together. Sweat pooled in his hands as they clamped tighter and tighter around Lightning. His heart began to beat faster once again.

He turned back towards the doors that he entered through, but before he could open it himself, it opened towards him. Two faunus draped in White Fang gear were talking to each other as they opened the door, both yelped at the sight of Witt. 

The young Huntsman was left with very little options. 

Whitaker grabbed the deer faunus in front of him by its throat, clamped his hand over its mouth, and stabbed one of Lightning’s blades through its chest. Whitaker silenced the faunus as its blood began to seep into his clothes. 

The other faunus scrambled for his gun, but before he could get a shot off, Whitaker kicked it out of his hands and slashed across the faunus’ chest. The dog faunus fell back, clutching his wound and looking up at Whitaker with desperation in his eyes. As the faunus began to open its mouth to shout for help, Whitaker lunged forward and finished him with a final stab in the throat. Blood sprayed from the wound, covering Whitaker’s face in crimson splatters. Without warning, bile shot out from Whitaker’s mouth. Lime and dark green throw-up coated the dog faunus’ corpse.

Witt grew still, his whole body tightening and tensing as if a great weight fell over him. His breathing grew harsher, and the world began to spin. He heard a ringing in his ears as he desperately shook his head in an attempt to forget what had just happened. He stared at the corpse. He tried to comprehend what had just happened.

But when he heard the sound of other White Fang patrols coming his direction, Whitaker forced those thoughts aside with all of his strength. There was no time to hesitate. Especially when lives were on the line.

When Whitaker disappeared from the scene, it didn’t take long for the bodies to be discovered.

The alarm blared soon after.

He needed to leave. His job was done— he scouted the warehouse, discovered what it held, and assessed its danger. Now, he had to get back to his father. Easier said than done considering he had to maneuver through a compound full of trained White Fang soldiers.

Whitaker clenched his jaw.

He grabbed the hilt of Lightning.

With a metallic hiss, the blade left its sheath.

And a tempest of steel tore through the compound.

####  **[;]**

When Witt saw his father again, a light blue was beginning to settle in the sky, and Whitaker was back where they originally began the operation. Esmond, upon seeing his son, rushed over immediately. Black Sun collapsed into its wristband form as Esmond hugged Whitaker. 

“Are you alright? Gods, I was worried sick.”

Whitaker pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. I’m fine, Dad.”

Esmond then noticed the dried blood on Witt’s dark blue jacked. Something in Esmond’s demeanor changed. His brows furrowed and his eyes darkened. “I’m sorry, Witt.”

“It’s okay. I knew the risks. I just…” Witt swallowed. “Does it get easier?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“You eventually realize that it’s a necessity. And you learn to deal with it better.” Esmond sighed. “It does get easier. If only marginally.”

“Good. That’s— that’s good.” Witt forced a smile. “It would suck to deal with this feeling forever.”

“It doesn’t go away. You just get better at handling it.” Esmond patted Witt’s shoulder. “Anyways, you did well. I’ll notify Ozpin about this and he’ll send someone to collect the Dust crates. Until then, we just need to sit tight and make sure no one else decides to take the Dust.”

As the people of Verdant slowly awoke, the events of the night were revealed. The discovery and subsequent eradication of the source of negativity was held in a positive light— after all, it had plagued the settlement for weeks now. But the fact that around fifteen White Fang were either killed or arrested dismayed the people, especially the faunus population. What the faunus first viewed as just Huntsman, now Esmond and Whitaker became faunus-killers; they were just as merciless as the Schnee Dust Company. It didn’t take long before the idea spread like wildfire.

“Why are they so… angry?” asked Witt as he closed the blinds to their apartment. One of the families had been kind enough to house them for the duration of their time at Verdant.

“They’ve been struggling for a long time, and they’re tired of being seen as less.” Esmond explained.

“But we didn’t do anything?”

“They’ve got their hearts set on it, kid. Just let it go. Once Qrow gets here, we can leave.”

It didn’t take long. Qrow arrived within a day of Esmond notifying Ozpin.

A haggard, hazy-eyed Qrow stepped into the room that Esmond and Whitaker were staying in.

“Still can’t hold your liquor?” Esmond smirked.

“I’ve been drinking since…” Qrow looked at the watch on his wrist that wasn’t there. “Forever ago,” he bumbled. He looked past Esmond, and at Whitaker. “Sup, kid.”

Witt wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Hi.” He waved.

“Why didn’t you go to Beacon?”

“Because I didn’t want to.”

Qrow’s eyes narrowed. “Too good for it?”

Witt rolled his eyes. “I’m attending next year, idiot.”

Qrow leaned back, accepting the answer. “Alright. Where’s the Dust?”

After showing Qrow the location of the warehouse, Witt and Esmond took a Bullhead back to Vale.

“Good job.” Esmond patted Whitaker on his shoulder. “You saved a lot of lives today, Whitaker. You should be proud. This is what being a Huntsman is all about.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Esmond smiled at him. “Don’t thank me. It was your plan and your swift execution. I was just a member of your team.”

“Exactly,” Whitaker countered with a grin of his own. “You were a member of my team. Thank you.”

####  **[;]**

The Bullhead arrived in Patch mostly on time. A man with short, beach blonde hair wearing a tan vest with maroon collars smiled as Esmond and Whitaker exited the Bullhead, luggage in tow.

“Glad you made it safely!” Taiyang Xiao Long shook Esmond’s hand earnestly. He grinned at Witt. “And you must be Esmond’s son, Whitaker?”

Whitaker nodded, shaking the older man’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Xiao Long.”

“Please, just call me Taiyang.” He smiled. “I’ll go into ‘teacher-mode’ if you call me Mr. Xiao Long.”

“Okay.”

“Tai,” Esmond interjected. “What do you need us to do?”

The man’s face darkened immediately. “Something we need to discuss in private. Come with me.”

Esmond and Whitaker followed Tai all the way from the landing pad to a small log house in the middle of a forest. Whitaker had only grown up in the middle of a metropolitan city, so seeing how much smaller Patch was compared to Vale was disorienting. Even the largest shopping center in Patch could barely compare to Pharos Academy. But over the last half year, Whitaker had grown used to small settlements and towns. One thing he didn’t envy though, was the constant fear of an attack by the Grimm.

As Whitaker, Esmond, and Taiyang sped out of the center of Patch and into the forest, Esmond spoke up.

“What’s the situation, Tai?”

“I’ll talk about it once we’re at home.”

Some ten minutes later, the forest cleared, revealing a large wooden house. It had two floors and a small shed to its side. Taiyang parked the car in front of the shed and unlocked the door to the house. “You two can just leave your stuff at the front.” 

Taiyang led them into the kitchen and pointed at the dining table. “Have a seat. I’ll get some water.” He reached up into a cupboard and produced three homemade mugs. They had crude but adorable drawings on the sides of them. After filling them with water, Tai placed them in front of Esmond and Whitaker before also taking a seat. Whitaker inspected the mug with a stick-figure drawing of a woman in red wielding a sword in one hand, and a miniature version of herself in the other. 

Whitaker smiled softly at the image.

“I’ll cut straight to the chase,” Taiyang said, resting his elbows on the table. “I need you both to cover for Qrow while he’s out on a mission for Ozpin.”

“You want us to teach?!” Whitaker could hardly believe it. Tai, the whole ride to his house, had been feeding them complete bull about the dangers of the assignment they were called to Patch for.

“Teaching is serious business, alright? If current Huntsmen and Huntresses don’t teach the younger generation, the people won’t have anyone to defend them.” Esmond looked at Esmond. “You didn’t tell him? I gambled when I said that ‘the mission was extremely dangerous.’ I thought you two were just humoring me.”

Esmond smirked. “I didn’t tell him a thing.”

“Wow. Somehow, you’re crueler than me.”

“Oh, please.”

“It’s true.” Taiyang grinned. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten the prank you pulled on Qrow.”

Esmond laughed and slapped the table. “Gods, those poor girls—”

“What are we teaching? Who? Where?”

Taiyang chuckled. “Relax, Lil’ Ash. You two are just gonna cover for Qrow while he’s out on a mission. He does most of the combat classes at Signal.” Taiyang leaned in. “I also want you to keep an eye on my kids, especially—”

The door flew open as a girl with wild, untamed blonde hair strode into the dining room with a grin that mirrored her father’s. “We’re home!”

“Yang,” Taiyang finished with a sigh.

A red spiral flew into the house, and Whitaker snapped to action, six months of Huntsmen experiencing flowed through his body. In a swift motion, he unsheathed and split Lightning, activated his Semblance, and tracked the red blur as it traveled through the room, nearly knocking over the plant on the table. 

It was a girl. His eyes followed hers and the girl’s silver eyes widened.

_ Silver eyes. _

“Witt!” Esmond shouted. “Stand down.” He sighed. “Sorry, Tai, he can be jumpy.”

“It’s alright.” Tai analyzed Witt’s weapons. “Interesting weapon. What’s it called?’

Whitaker sheathed the swords. “Lightning.” He turned to the silver-eyed girl. “I’m sorry for drawing my weapon on you in your own house.”

“Oh it’s no problem.” The girl grinned and rubbed the back of her head through her hood.

“So,” the blonde girl began as she sat on the slate grey kitchen counter, “who are you guys?”

“They’re covering for Uncle Qrow while he’s out,” Taiyang replied, crossing his arms.

The blonde turned to him.“How old are you?”

“My name is Whitaker, and I’m seventeen.”

“Whitaker.” The girl repeated the name as if trying to remember it. “I’m Yang.” She grinned. “Aren’t you a little too young to be a Huntsman? Especially for teaching people our age?”

He shrugged. “I’m not exactly a Huntsman, and I’m pretty sure that I’ll be more of a punching bag for my dad.”

“You’ll be teaching a few lessons too, but I’ll make sure you’re prepared.” Esmond smiled. While Whitaker wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of being a teacher for people one or two years younger than him, it certainly beat staying home and being bored all day.

“Why aren’t you attending Beacon? Did your application get denied? Or are you, like, a prodigy and you just graduated super early?” The small, silver-eyed girl asked in a rapid-fire manner. “Or are you just skipping Beacon entirely and—”

“Ruby—” Taiyang began.

“It’s fine,” interjected Witt. “I’m spending a year out on the field, trying to get an idea for life as a Huntsman. I’ll be attending Beacon next year, so I’ve never applied or been to the campus.”

“Oh…” Ruby drawled. “Do you like cookies—”

Taiyang suddenly stood up. “Okay! Wow! Look at the time! We should prepare some lunch for our guests, right girls?”

Yang grinned while Ruby frowned slightly— most likely at the prospect of not getting cookies rather than having to serve guests. While Yang and Ruby prepared something in the kitchen, Taiyang led the Ashes up the stairs. 

The Xiao-Long home in comparison to the Ash home was certainly more cozy, if a little messy. The top of the stairs extended into a hallway. At the end of the hallway was a small table filled with framed pictures of Taiyang, Yang, and Ruby. 

“This one is where you two will be staying,” Taiyang said, waving a hand toward one of the three doors in the hallway. He pointed to the door opposite Whitaker and Esmond’s room. “This is the girls’ room.” Then he pointed to the last door near the top of the stairs. “And that’s my room.” The blonde man smiled. “Bathroom is downstairs, first door on the left from the stairway. I’ll go make some lunch. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, Tai,” Esmond said.

“Don’t mention it.” He gave Whitaker and Esmond a thumbs-up paired with a grin before disappearing down the stairs.

Whitaker opened the door to him and his father’s room. It was small, cozy, much like the rest of the house. A pair of twin beds rested on opposite sides of the room, and in between them was a window that overlooked the side of the house and a decent way into the forest that surrounded it. Beneath the window was a simple, wooden desk and chair. A four-drawer dresser was positioned at the foot of each bed.

Whitaker placed his luggage atop the bed nearest the door. “This one’s mine.” He opened up the luggage bag and fished out a pair of black sweats and a white t-shirt, as well as his toiletries. “I’ll shower first?”

Esmond nodded. “After your shower, we’ll discuss lesson plans with Tai. Make sure to keep the girls company.”

Whitaker nodded. “Right. The girls.”

Yang and Ruby.

_ Silver eyes _ , Whitaker said to himself once again. Not something you see often. The last silver-eyed warrior was—

Summer Rose.

Ruby. Rose..?

Whitaker shook his head. There was no way. But the two looked so similar that it was hard to believe otherwise. He’d seen pictures of Summer, and Ruby was almost an exact clone of her, if a little smaller and more petite.

####  **[;]**

Whitaker stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The towel that Taiyang had given him was tied around his waist. Over the course of the last six months, his physique had changed from that of a boy who exercised often, to a young man with an… exceptional body. As it turned out, being a Hunter turned your body into a battle-ready machine. He grabbed the ends of his long, stark white hair and began to brush it. He’d neglected cutting it ever since he joined his father. So, here he was, having long hair as a young man.

He closed his eyes.

He could hardly remember the last time he was in a home. For the last five or so months, he’d spent most of his life camping, walking, scouting, or fighting— sometimes a combination of all four at the same time. 

Whitaker missed showering. Desperately so. Managing long hair for months at a time without a shower? He would rather die than have to go through that again. The last time he could properly wash it was during his first mission in Verdant. He set down the brush with a sigh.

A knock sounded at the bathroom door.

“Are you almost done? I need to use the bathroom.”

_ Ah. Right. Not my house. _ “Give me a second to put something on,” Whitaker replied.

He quickly slid on his sweatpants and shirt, and tied his hair up in his usual ponytail. Hanging up his towel, he opened the door.

Whitaker came face-to-face with Yang who smiled.

“Thanks,” she said. Her lilac eyes gleaming. It took all of Whitaker’s willpower and discipline to  _ keep _ his eyes on hers.

Whitaker nodded. “No worries. Sorry if I was in there for too long.”

“Don’t sweat it. I enjoy long showers too.” She made a point to flick her luscious, well-managed blonde hair over her shoulder. “Anyways,” she continued, and stepped past him and into the bathroom. “I’ll see you around.”

Yang shut the door, leaving Whitaker by himself in the hallway.

He let out a sigh.

Living with two girls for an extended period of time would be much harder than he believed. Worse yet, Yang seemed like the flirty type.

His mind drifted to another flirty individual.

_ Coco… _

Whitaker wondered how she was doing now. He hadn't spoken to her in nearly half a year. Perhaps it was time to message her.

Wandering into the kitchen, Whitaker saw his father, Taiyang, and Ruby sitting around the table. A simple lunch consisting of bread, pork, and a bowl of warm soup rested atop the table. Esmond had his Scroll out on the table, a note-taking app visible on the screen.

“Go ahead and sit wherever, Witt,” Taiyang said.

Whitaker opted to sit next to his father. Pulling up a chair, he stared at the plate of food before him.

“So, Ruby, I wanted to ask how Qrow usually runs his classes,” Esmond began. “Just so I have an idea of what the students expect.”

_ Wow, Dad’s really taking this seriously. I should too, then. _

The short, black-haired girl hummed. “Since it’s combat class, he usually pairs us up and makes us spar. Sometimes, he’ll have days where only a few students spar and everyone else watches. Uncle Qrow is pretty loose with the rules too, so some fights can get pretty brutal.”

“Brutal how?” Esmond questioned further.

“Well, Uncle Qrow is all about ‘realism’ and stuff like that. So he’ll sometimes make students fight past their aura being in the red. It’s pretty rare though.”

Esmond sighed.

“That’s dangerous,” Whitaker commented. “Especially for young Huntsmen-in-training who likely don’t know the extent of their power.”

Ruby tilted her head. “He’s never had a serious injury happen in his class, though.”

“That’s fortunate for him.” Esmond looked at Taiyang. “Did you know about this?”

The blonde man nodded slowly. “Although I did try and talk him out of it. He was as stubborn as ever.”

“It’s Branwen-certified stubbornness,” Esmond said with a chuckle.

Taiyang smirked.

“What’s up?” Yang said, her head leaning against the doorway into the kitchen. “What’cha guys talking about?”

“The… unique way your uncle teaches his class,” Whitaker said.

“The dangerous way,” Esmond corrected. “I’m surprised that no one thought to tell the other teachers at Signal.”

Yang shrugged, taking a seat next to Ruby. “No one has ever gotten seriously injured. And it’s good practice.”

“Practice that hopefully none of you will ever need to use,” Esmond said. “We’re Huntsmen. We fight Grimm. Not humans or faunus.”

“Then what’s the point of sparring against each other at all?” Yang countered. “By what you’re saying, we should just have Grimm hunting classes instead of combat classes.”

_ Stubborn, confrontational, and temperamental. A bad mix, _ Whitaker analyzed. He cleared his throat. “It’s a little more complicated than that. We protect the people of Vale, regardless if it means hunting Grimm of humans and faunus.”

Yang crossed her arms. She nodded once. “What Gramps said.”

“Gramps?” Whitaker asked.

“Your hair is white. And you’re older than me.”

“I…” Whitaker trailed off. “That’s fair.”

“Moving on,” Taiyang said, clearly desperate to not make Yang any angrier. “Is that your only concern, Esmond? The danger of the class?”

“Yes,” Esmond stated. “It’s an easy enough thing to fix. We’ll simply have the students fight only until their Aura reaches the red. In addition to that, we’ll start doing paired fights to simulate having a partner, and later on in the semester, we’ll have fights in groups of four.”

“Good idea. A lot of the kids are trying to get into Beacon, so this will increase their chances.”

Esmond nodded. “Exactly.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable silence after that as they began to eat. Yang was the first to finish, followed by Ruby and Taiyang.

“It seems we’re slow eaters,” Esmond commented, glancing at the two girls as they left the room to go upstairs.

Whitaker shrugged. “At least it’s not rations. I hate those things.”

Taiyang’s face soured at the mention of rations. “Vale-issued?”

Whitaker nodded once.

“Have they not changed since I was active?”

Esmond shook his head. “Unfortunately, they have not.”

Just as Taiyang was about to speak, Yang burst into the kitchen. She was fully armed, dressed and ready for a fight. Two golden gauntlets wrapped around her hands and extended up to her forearm. On the underside, Whitaker could see red shells that surrounded the area where her wrist would be.  _ Shotgun shells. Probably filled with fire Dust.  _ She pointed a finger at Whitaker. “I want to spar you.”

“Spar? Or fight,” Whitaker asked, looking pointedly at the sheer extremity of her firepower.

The brawler brought her fists together and grinned. “Whichever makes you the most serious.”

Whitaker looked to both Taiyang and Esmond. “Is it alright if I spar her?”

Both parents nodded. 

“It was bound to happen eventually.” Taiyang began to gather the dishes and place them into the sink. “Go get ready, I’ll finish the dishes here, and then Esmond and I can monitor the spar.”

Whitaker quickly finished the small amount of food left on his plate. He smirked at Yang as he walked past her. Needless to say, he was more than excited at the prospect of fighting her. Judging from how she carried herself and the weapons she used, Yang was a brawler, and most likely a fierce one at that.

And based off of her personality, she was going to be aggressive, push any advantage she saw, and fight relentlessly.

That was the thing about fighting Huntsmen. So much of their fighting style was based off of their identities— who they were, who they weren’t, what they stood for, and what they hated— that it was, sometimes, easy to pick apart how they were going to fight despite never having faced them before.

And Whitaker was the same way.

He knew himself.

He was a calculating fighter. He thought his way through his problems as clearly as he could, and, because of his Semblance, was forced to take things slower. He was reactionary by nature. It was carved into his very  _ soul _ .

Whitaker returned to the task of putting on his clothes.

He lifted his long-sleeve black shirt over his head and tucked it into the pants, then he adjusted his belt, securing his pants around his waist. His dark grey cloak hung inside the closet, the one gift he received from his mother before he left with his father for a year. He grabbed the cloak and draped it over his shoulders, buttoning it up. The right-hand side hung over his hands, while the left-hand side only covered his biceps and upward, leaving his forearm and hands exposed. Tying the black ribbons that hung from Lightning’s sheath around his waist, Whitaker retrieved the blade from its case within his bag.

With a pleased sigh, Whitaker slid Lightning into its sheath.

_ Time to spar. _

A small grin danced across the Huntsman’s lips.

####  **[;]**

“Standard sparring rules apply: victory is achieved by forcing your opponent’s Aura into the red, or knocking them out of the ring,” Taiyang explained. “Out of the ring is determined by me and Esmond.”

Whitaker stood about thirty feet from Yang, his hand already grasping the hilt of Lightning. His blonde opponent had a wide smile on her face, and her gauntleted hands tightened.

Standing behind Taiyang, her silver eyes wide and glancing between both Whitaker and Yang, was Ruby. She was dressed for a spar as well. Her… ruby red clothes and cape fluttered gently in the breeze, and a strange contraption was attached to the back of her hip. From what Whitaker could tell, it was extremely complex. One of those newer “mecha-shift” weapons. Coco had one.

_ A handbag that transformed itself into a minigun… Only her, _ Whitaker thought to himself. His attention turned back to Yang as she began to bounce on the balls of her feet. She threw out a few jabs. The blonde brawler was fast.

“Are you both ready?” Taiyang asked.

Whitaker nodded.

Yang gave her father a thumbs-up.

“On three, the fight will begin.” Taiyang backed further away from the two fighters. “One…”

Whitaker glanced at his father. Esmond stared back intensely, his eyes narrowed as he watched Whitaker’s every move.

“Two…”

Whitaker’s hands clenched the hilt of Lightning. Yang crouched down ever so slightly. She brought up her gauntlets.

“Three.”

In a burst of movement, Yang launched herself towards Whitaker. An aura of red surrounded her fist. With a howl, Yang punched Whitaker.

But the white-haired teen had already moved to the side.

Yang growled and threw another punch. And another. And another. 

It was like attempting to punch wind. Whitaker flowed, smoothly, gracefully, between each attack— it was like his feet were barely touching the ground. 

“Stand. Still!” Yang growled as she brought her fist back into a haymaker. Whitaker slipped beneath the powerful strike, ending up behind her.

The blonde brawler made an attempt to grapple Whitaker, he slipped through her fingers like water. The two fighters met eyes. 

“How still is this for you?” Whitaker taunted.

Yang snarled, and her eyes flashed red. She flew into a furious rage, her attacks came fast and hard, and Whitaker knew that getting hit by even one of them would result in his instant loss. He may not have known the brawler’s Semblance, but he figured it had something to do with her new eye color.

After nearly five minutes of non-stop attacking, Yang was beginning to grow tired. Her breathing was haggard and heavy. The red in her eyes bled away, returning to its normal lilac color.

Whitaker could tell she was near the end of her energy. And he hadn’t even pulled out his weapon yet. He could finish her. With a single move he could— 

“You’re.. not even… fighting,” Yang breathed.

“Ah,” Whitaker said. In a flash, he unsheathed Lightning, the deep, ocean blue of the blade glinting in the afternoon sunlight. He raised the tip towards Yang, his head tilted, and a grin slowly widening across his face. Purposely making his voice deeper and more dramatic, he spoke. “Now am I fighting?”

Ruby squealed and clapped her hands, while Taiyang laughed uproariously.

_ Right. Not a real fight. Just a spar. _ Whitaker reminded himself. He looked back to Yang, who was standing with her hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

“Do you yield?” Whitaker asked.

“I…” Yang sighed. “Yeah. I surrender.” She ungracefully plopped onto the ground, and let out a long groan. “Man, that was so lame! You didn’t even attack me so I couldn’t use my Semblance on you.”

Ruby rushed over and sat next to her sister. “It’s okay, Yang. White— I mean Whitaker’s got a lot more experience fighting people than you.”

The white-haired teen nodded. “I do.” He looked at Ruby. “And I also go by Witt, if that’s easier for you to say.”

“Oh,” Ruby flushed. “Uh. That works. Witt.”

“Yeah, but I thought I would at least stand a chance,” Yang complained. She pounded the ground with her gauntlets.

“Witt,” Ruby began, “did you use your Semblance?”

Whitaker shook his head. 

“Wow, so you were dodging all of her attacks super easily?”

“Ruby?!” Yang protested.

Witt rubbed the back of his head and laughed sheepishly. “Well, it helps that my Semblance also affects my natural reflexes.”

“What is your Semblance?” Ruby asked, her silver sparkling with curiosity.

“I’ll admit, I’m a little curious as well,” Taiyang interjected. “You made Yang look like a complete novice with how you moved.”

Whitaker sheathed Lightning. He shrugged. “I suppose it’s better if I just show you?”

“That works,” Taiyang said.

“Dad?” Whitaker asked.

Esmond shrugged. “It’s your Semblance.”

“Well, that settles it. Ruby,” Witt said. “Your Semblance is speed, right?”

Ruby nodded. “I can go  _ super _ fast.”

“Then it’ll be perfect for this test.” Whitaker moved further away from Ruby. “I want you to attack me. As fast as you can.”

“As fast as I…? Are you sure?” Ruby asked. A hand moved to the weapon she held at the back of her hips.

Whitaker nodded. “Have faith in me. And my Semblance.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

When Ruby unveiled her weapon in a rapid sequence of turning gears and shifting metal, Whitaker swallowed. He had  _ not  _ expected such a small girl to use such a big scythe. The red and black gunmetal on the scythe seemed to almost bleed anger, yet Ruby carried it with a wide smile on her face.

“Alright, I’m gonna attack you,” Ruby said, as if she were making sure that she believed the words as well. “Really fast. As fast as I can.”

Whitaker nodded enthusiastically. He had seen Ruby use her Semblance earlier, when she rushed into the kitchen and he thought she was an enemy of some sort. Even then, with his Semblance activated, she was a challenge to track.

If she could move even faster than that, then he had found the  _ perfect _ person to spar against. Very few people could attack and defend faster than Whitaker could see, even his father, a renowned, well-trained Huntsman was slowing down.

“Ready?” Ruby asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Whitaker replied.

“Okay, here it comes.” Ruby brought back the blade of her scythe. Her silver eyes closed.

An eternity passed in a moment.

And like a red bullet, the silver-eyed warrior bolted towards Whitaker, leaving behind a trail of roses.

Whitaker activated Reflex to its fullest extent. Electricity, lightning shot through him as the world slowed to a crawl.

Whitaker stared at Ruby as she sped towards him. 

They locked eyes.

Cold blue met silver.

He could see Ruby’s expression change from worry to pure and utter shock.

He could see the blade of the scythe, arcing down towards him.

Whitaker, moving like water through rocks, sidestepped the incoming strike.

He let out a breath, and loosened Reflex. Time returned to normal.

Whitaker looked back to Ruby, who was kneeling on the ground, the blade of her scythe stabbed deep into the ground.

“Ruby?” Whitaker asked, hesitantly. “Are you okay—”

“That. Was. AWESOME!” Moving like lightning, she returned her weapon back to its dormant form and dashed towards Whitaker. She looked up at him, silver eyes wide with intrigue. “I can’t believe you  _ saw _ me! No one’s ever looked directly at me when I use my Semblance.”

“Wait, wait,” Taiyang suddenly interrupted, stepping towards the red and white duo. “You saw Ruby in her Semblance?”

“Yeah,” Whitaker said. “My Semblance is called Reflex. And I’m sure you can guess what it does by now.”

“Enhanced reflexes,” Taiyang said. “Talk about strong.”

Esmond snapped his fingers. “That’s what I said.”

“Did you tell him not to use it often?”

Esmond nodded once. “Of course. The last thing he needs to be is a—”

“One trick pony,” both men said with a grimace.

Whitaker sweat-dropped.  _ Something terrible must have happened to both of these guys. _ “Well, regardless, I haven’t been using it often.” He looked to Ruby. “If you don’t mind, Ruby, could you be my sparring partner for the time I’ll be here?” Whitaker moved closer to the girl, kneeling down slightly so he could reach her ear. “Everyone’s really slow except you. So I’ll need your help to get stronger,” he whispered.

Ruby giggled. Then, she nodded. “Yeah, I’ll spar with you as often as you want!”

“Wait, wait, what’s going on here?” Yang asked. She glared at Whitaker. “Why aren’t I invited?”

“Uh…” Whitaker trailed off. “Too slow?” He shrugged.

Yang scoffed. “Then train me to be faster.”

_ Fair. An entirely fair point. _ Whitaker felt stupid for missing that. “Okay, when you put it that way, I don’t see why not.”

“Hold on,” Taiyang said. “This Semblance of yours, does it work on multiple people?”

“I…” Whitaker’s eyes widened. “I’ve actually never tried.”

“Wait, seriously?” Yang asked. “You’ve  _ never _ tried using your Semblance on more than one person? I find that hard to believe.”

“It’s never been necessary,” Esmond interjected. “Nearly every fight Whitaker has participated in either resulted in him not needing his Semblance, or having to use his Semblance on only one combatant.”

“Does it work on Grimm?” Ruby asked.

“Not exactly,” Whitaker said. “When I use it on Grimm, it messes with my vision and my Aura. It’s almost like I’m not supposed to use it on Grimm.”

“That’s…”

“Unfortunate? Awful? Terrible? It defeats the purpose of being a Huntsman?” Whitaker sighed. 

“All of the above,” commented Yang.

“It is what it is,” Whitaker replied. “Destiny gave me this Semblance, so I shall use it to its fullest extent.”

Esmond nodded. “Make the most out of your talents, regardless of how ‘unfortunate’ they seem to be.”

Taiytang clapped his hands together excitedly. “So, are we going to see whether or not Whitaker can take on me and Esmond at the same time?”

####  **[;]**

“That’s… not.. fair,” Whitaker muttered from his position laying on the ground. His defeat was swift. And it came even faster when he realized that his Semblance did  _ not  _ work on more than a single combatant. In fact, it worked so poorly, that Whitaker felt his Aura drain when he tried it.

It also didn’t help that he was going up against two experienced, trained, and full-fledged Huntsmen.

“Hah! You got your ass beat—”

“Yang!” Taiyang scolded. “Language.”

The feisty girl immediately backed down. “Sorry, Dad.”

Whitaker sat up. “Guess my Semblance doesn’t do too well against more than one person.”

Taiyang nodded.

Esmond hummed. “I saw your Aura flare when you tried to use it. What happened?”

“I think… it damaged my Aura.”

“A Semblance that damages your Aura if it doesn’t work?” Ruby repeated, belief shining in her silver eyes. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“It might be a drawback due to how powerful it is naturally,” Esmond attempted to explain. “Not sure how true that is, but, based on what we’ve seen, it’s probably for the best that you don’t use your Semblance on more than one person.”

That, Whitaker could agree with. Ruby made a good point, but he found it hard to believe that his  _ own _ Semblance damaged his Aura when he used it in such a manner. He expected it to not work… but that seemed a little extreme.

Like always, Whitaker ended up with more questions regarding Aura than answers.

“So,” Yang offered. “What now?”

“Well,” Esmond began, “Whitaker and I need to draw up some lesson plans for the class we’re supposed to teach tomorrow. And for the rest of the semester should your uncle’s mission take longer than expected.” He smiled at Yang and Ruby. “Unfortunately, that means you two girls are gonna have to leave. Can’t have my own students getting an early look at class activities after all.”

Ruby frowned, and Yang sighed. 

The blonde tilted her head, leaning more weight onto one leg than the other and resting a hand on her hip. “Fair. Well, Rubes, looks like we’re gonna go play some video games!”

The frown on Ruby’s face vanished instantly, replaced with a grin so wide that Whitaker could swear was breaking her face. “Yay!” 

“Up-up-up,” Taiyang interrupted just as the red-caped ball of energy was about to disappear. He looked all-too excited to have some free time. “ _ We’re  _ gonna spar. Yang, you need to work on your stamina, and Ruby… well, you could always use more practice.”

“But Dad—”

“But nothing,” Taiyang said with a grin. He placed a hand on both girls’ shoulders. “Let’s go!” He turned his head back to the two other boys and grinned. “I’ll see you two at dinner.”

Whitaker and Esmond looked at each other. Then, they both chuckled.

“They’re an interesting bunch,” Whitaker said.

“That they are.”

“And Ruby has—”

“Silver eyes,” Esmond finished. “Yes.”

“Is she…?” Whitaker trailed off.

“Summer’s daughter?”

Whitaker nodded. He bit his lip, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” Esmond murmured. “She is the daughter of Summer Rose.”

“She’s strong,” Whitaker said. “Very strong. It’s even more impressive given she’s—”

“Three years younger than you.”

“Three? I thought she was Yang’s age.”

Esmond shook his head. “She’s fifteen. And she’s swinging that scythe around like it’s a dagger.”

“That’s…”

“The power of her silver eyes.”

“It’s more than that,” Whitaker protested.

Esmond raised a brow at Whitaker.

“You can attribute it to her silver eyes,” Whitaker said. “But it’s also her willpower, her determination, and her motivation.”

“Do you see yourself in her?” Esmond asked.

_ Wow. Dad really goes straight for the jugular. _

Whitaker chuckled. “I guess I do. But I’m too young to be saying that. I’m not that much older than her, either.”

“I suppose so.” Esmond crossed his arms. “She concerns me, however.”

Whitaker’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Rather, I am concerned  _ for _ her,” Esmond began. “It’s not often you see a silver-eyed warrior, and more than that, it’s not often you see a silver-eyed warrior with such a strong mix of determination, talent, passion, and loyalty.”

“Wasn’t Summer Rose…?”

“Summer Rose was good,” Esmond said. “Very, very good. But not even she mastered a scythe at fifteen.”

“Ruby only threw out one swing,” Whitaker said. “And it was at a target waiting to be struck.”

“But she did not hold back.” Esmond turned to face Whitaker fully. “Do you know what I saw, when she attacked you?”

Whitaker shook his head.

“She moved too fast for  _ my  _ eye to track. I only saw the petals she left behind.”

Whitaker’s eyes widened. For his own father to track… “That’s…”

“She’s a prodigy, Whitaker,” Esmond said. “Only once in a hundred years does someone that talented show up.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It is as long as someone guides her, protects her, and teaches her the right things,” Esmond explained, staring straight into Whitaker’s eyes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“Whitaker,” Esmond began, “I’m not asking you to manipulate her to do your bidding. I’m not asking you to wax poetry, or discuss philosophy with a fifteen year-old girl.” 

Esmond pointed towards the small girl currently watching her sister and father spar. A small smile danced across her lips. She bobbed her head along to a non-existent rhythm, her fingers tapping the black sleeves of her dress.

“I’m asking you to be her friend,” Esmond said, finality in his voice.

“I…”

“Whitaker.” Esmond placed a hand on Whitaker’s shoulder. “I understand your desire to be a Huntsman, to use your talents to their fullest potential. But that should not take away from your youth. Do not  _ lose yourself _ in this journey. You may be a Huntsman, or a Huntsman-in-training. But before that, before  _ anything else _ , you are Whitaker Ash. A seventeen year-old boy.”

Whitaker swallowed. His throat felt taught, coarse, as if someone had made him swallow a bucket full of sand. “But…” The protest died on his lips.

Esmond released his hold on him. “Whitaker. When was the last time you relaxed?”

“I don’t know.”

“The last time you played a game on your Scroll?”

“I don’t remember.”

“The last time you talked to someone while we weren’t on a mission?”

Whitaker shrugged. With each question, he attempted to make himself smaller and smaller. 

“Whitaker, you’ve been working. Ceaselessly. For the last three and a half years.” Esmond sighed. “It’s partially my fault that you had to work so hard. And I apologize for that. But take a moment to breathe, a moment to reflect on what you’ve accomplished, the good you’ve done. More importantly, take a break. Use this time we have in Patch to take things a little slower.” A small grin crept up on his face. “And maybe talk to some girls while you’re at it.”

“And here I thought we were genuine heart-to-heart.”

Esmond shrugged. “I genuinely meant it.”

Whitaker hummed.

“Did you message Coco?”

“I haven’t.”

“Not once?”

Whitaker shook his head.

“Why not?”

“Because…” Whitaker trailed off. He tried to find the right words for it. “I guess it’s that I’m not really sure how I feel about her. She’s a great friend. Talented. Strong. Funny. I’m just not sure if I can picture her as… someone like that.”

“Then move on,” Esmond stated.

“What?”

“Just move on,” Esmond repeated. “Tell her that you’d rather stay as friends, and then go from there.”

“But— but she’s been waiting almost a full year for—”

“Then you apologize for that.” Esmond sighed. “Whitaker, you don’t have to commit yourself to Coco if you don’t think it’s going to work out. There are plenty of fish in the sea.”

“I’ve heard that too many times.”

“Because it’s true,” Esmond emphasized.

“But what about you and mom? You chased her for years.”

Esmond waved his hand dismissively. “A moot point. Your mom and I are a special case. Coco isn’t the only girl out there, you know that.” He pointed once again to the two girls sparring. “I’m not saying that you have to pursue Ruby or Yang, it’s just an example.”

“Right.”

“Think about it, Whitaker.”

“About dating someone?”

His father rolled his eyes. “I meant taking time to yourself. Maybe join Ruby and Yang when they play their game.”

“I…” Whitaker let out a breath. “Right.”

Esmond clapped his shoulder. “C’mon, I need to use you as a punching bag.”

“Why?!”

“Lesson planning.”

_ Great. _

As Whitaker followed behind his father, he frowned slightly. His father was right. He hadn’t rested, he hadn’t taken a moment to  _ breathe _ for nearly four years. 

“Whitaker,” Esmond called. “Are you coming?” He asked.

“Yes,” Whitaker replied. He smiled. “I’ll be there soon.”

Taking in the fresh scent of grass, feeling the soft breeze that eased its way through the woods and through his clothes, Whitaker inhaled deeply. His muscles loosened. A weight lifted itself from his shoulders.

His entire body  _ ached _ . It felt like he’d just spent hours upon hours on end exercising. 

And for the first time in years, Whitaker breathed.


	4. CHAPTER TWO - PATCH

**Disclaimer: I don’t own RWBY.**

**As a note, the Ruby Rose featured in this story is going to show her intelligence and maturity a little more than she does in canon. We all know she has the capacity for it, and it’s a shame that the first couple volumes of the series didn’t explore it.**

**Being raised by your sister, a heart-broken single father, and an alcoholic, depressed uncle, after knowing your own mother died would leave quite the mark on a young girl. She, along with Yang, grew up much faster than they should have. She won’t be losing her hyperactivity, optimism, and all of the things that make her Ruby Rose; she will simply display a higher level of emotional and mental intelligence.**

**All of this being said, this is a slower chapter.**

**Enjoy.**

Whitaker wasn’t sure what to do when Ruby and Yang appeared at the door to his room in their pajamas, asking him to join them in their video game.

They had their Scrolls in hand, the fantastical music playing through the speakers.

“I…” Whitaker began. “Uh…”

“Have you never played a game before?” Ruby asked, tilting her head.

“I wouldn’t say  _ never _ ,” Whitaker corrected. “It’s just been awhile.”

Yang grinned. “Perfect! This game is new, so me and Ruby haven’t started at all on it.”

“I’m not sure…”

“Whitaker,” Esmond interjected. “Join them.”

Witt turned to his father, and then he desperately wished he hadn’t.

Esmond glared at Whitaker with pure, unhidden fury, and the underlying threat on his life if he  _ didn’t _ join the girls.

“Right.” Whitaker fished his Scroll out of his pajama pocket. “I guess I’ll join.”

“Great!” Yang whooped. “C’mon, let’s head downstairs. That’s where all the snacks are.”

Whitaker, following behind Ruby, opened his Scroll and absentmindedly looked through the app store. He had  _ no  _ idea what he was doing.

Ruby caught him, and she smiled. “Here. Let me show you.” She motioned for him to hand her his Scroll. When Whitaker gave her the small device, her fingers flew across the screen as she typed something into the Scroll, tapped the screen a few times, and then handed him back the Scroll.

“What did you just do?” Whitaker asked as he climbed down the last step.

“I… downloaded the game,” Ruby said, hesitantly.

“That was so fast!” Whitaker exclaimed. He followed behind Ruby and Yang like a lost child. The two girls sat on the couch in the living room, which was already prepared for a long night’s gaming session. The couch had pillows, several blankets, snacks and bottles of water and soda adorned the coffee table, and several Scroll charging warriors were plugged into surge protectors. What scared Whitaker, however, was the mountain of cookies that Ruby had in front of her.

“Is this what you guys normally do?”

“Well,” Yang said as she set her Scroll onto her lap. “Ruby and I have been looking forward to this game for awhile, so we did some prepping.”

“This much food?” Whitaker motioned to the table of chips, candy, and chocolates. “Junk food too?”

“Uh, yeah?” Yang said, raising a challenging brow.

“If you guys are going to stay up all night, you’re gonna need more food than this.”

“Neither of us can cook,” Ruby protested. “So we just bought stuff like this.”

“Neither of you can—” Whitaker cut himself off with a sigh. “That’s…” He trailed off. Considering that it was only Taiyang who was here taking care of two girls and having basically two full-time jobs, what with being a Huntsman and a teacher at an Academy, it would make sense that he wouldn’t have found the time to teach them how to cook for themselves. Whitaker cleared his throat. “In order to pay you guys back for helping me… relax, I’ll teach each of you two how to cook one thing.”

“Cook one thing?”

Whitaker nodded. “The easiest thing to cook.”

“Which is…?” Yang trailed off.

“Breakfast,” Whitaker said with a nod. “It also happens to be the most important meal of the day.”

“Okay,” Yang compromised. “That’s fair. When do we start?”

“How about when you two get hungry?”

And it was that moment that Ruby’s stomach let out an almost comically loud growl. The small girl’s cheeks exploded into a burning shade of red. She covered her face with her hands. “It wasn’t me,” she protested weakly.

Yang and Whitaker looked at each other. Then, they broke out into laughter.

“Guys? It’s not funny.” Ruby pouted. Adorably so.

“Well,” Whitaker said, after taking a minute to calm down. “I suppose we’ll start now.”

_ Whitaker Ash’s impromptu cooking class… Begin! _

**[;]**

As it turned out, attempting to teach two Huntresses how to cook when they had never learned to do as such, was rather difficult. They approached it like it was something to defeat.

Ruby stared at the frying pan, her silver eyes narrowed dangerously. Like she had half the heart to fetch Crescent Rose and slice the pan in two. “It’s Grimm. It has to be.”

“Ruby—” Whitaker tried. The slices of bacon atop the frying pan sizzled. A moment later, flecks of oil shot up from the pan, one of them landing on Ruby’s pajamas. The girl flinched, and then glared even harder at the pan. Somehow.

“Nothing else could explain how evil it is.”

“That’s the oil,” Whitaker explained. “Not the pan.”

“Yeah, but the pan is the reason the oil is doing that. So it’s the pan’s fault.”

“Well, technically, it’s the fire  _ beneath _ the pan. If we want to get serious about whose fault it is.”

“So then fire is evil,” Ruby summarized. She huffed. “I can get behind that.”

“Wait, wait, wait, we’re getting sidetracked,” Yang said. “Aren’t you supposed to teach us how to cook?”

“I am,” Whitaker said, motioning to the nearly-finished bacon. “This is how you cook.”

“You just… throw something onto a pan and stare at it?” Yang asked.

“You wait for it to finish cooking.”

“I thought bacon was unhealthy,” Ruby commented. Randomly.

“It’s a good way to introduce you guys to cooking. Eggs wouldn’t remind you to be careful around a pan full of hot oil.” Case in point, more oil bubbled and popped, this time launching towards Yang. The blonde didn’t even flinch when it landed on her wrist.

“Is this how all breakfast food is cooked?” Yang asked.

“Unless you’re a professional Mistralian chef,” Whitaker replied. “Or a really good home cook. Like my dad. Maybe he’ll cook breakfast tomorrow. If he does, you guys are in for a treat.” He removed the bacon from the pan and onto a nearby plate. Then, Whitaker cracked three eggs and dropped them into the pan.

This time, Ruby was interested. “Sunny-side up eggs?” 

“Mmhm,” Whitaker hummed, idly scooping up the bacon grease and dropping it into the center of the eggs. 

“Why are you doing that?” 

_ Wow. Yang had a lot of questions. _

“To make it cook faster and more evenly,” Whitaker said. “Also makes it taste better.”

“I see. I see.”

Whitaker turned to face Yang. He placed the spatula in her hand. “You try.”

Shock flashed across her face. “What? Why me? I don’t—”

“The first step to cooking,” Whitaker said, gently pushing Yang in front of the pan. “Is to not be afraid of it.”

“Last time I tried, I burned part of the house down,” Yang said flatly.

“I’ll be here to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Whitaker placed his hand on top of Yang’s. “Just keep an eye on the eggs. When the edges start to brown, you can remove it from the pan. If you want, you can try what I was doing and shovel some of the grease on top of the eggs.”

“Uh… okay.” A small blush appeared on Yang’s cheeks.

_ Ah. My hand. _ I removed my hand from hers. In order to quickly move on from the awkwardness that I knew was going to follow, I cleared my throat. “So, Ruby, while your sister watches your food, do you mind telling me a little about the game that we’re going to play?”

Her silver eyes brightened into small moons, and her mouth hung open before it split into a wide grin. “Yeah! Okay, so the game is called  _ The Legend of Remnant _ . And it’s sort of like an Action-RPG. Have you played those before? You know, like role-playing games? Okay, anyways, it’s co-op, and we’re basically playing as a group of adventurers or Huntsman who travel the world, kill Grimm, do quests, and help people and stuff. Apparently, there’s so many things to do that it would take a whole  _ year _ to finish everything in the game. Aaaand,” she inhaled, “there’s even a PvP mode! Do you know what that is? It’s Player versus Player, in case you didn’t know—”

“Okay, okay, wait, slow down, sis,” Yang interrupted the small girl’s impressively fast speech.

Whitaker rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, you sort of lost me half-way through your explanation.” He felt completely lost. Hearing Ruby talk, it was like listening to another language. “Sorry. I haven’t played anything like that.” More like he had  _ never _ played a video game before. “Oh. Yang, the eggs are done.”

“They are?” Yang looked back at her eggs. “They are!” She attempted to lift the eggs free from their iron prison, but the slippery things escaped. She tried once again, only to fail again. She tired once more before realizing that they were slowly being burned. “Whitaker! Help! I don’t know—”

“Yang… Turn the heat off.”

The brawler did as Whitaker instructed and returned to getting the eggs onto the plate. It took her several tries, but she eventually managed it. She set down the spatula and wiped her forehead with her wrist.

“I am  _ never _ cooking again,” she muttered. “That was more stressful than sparring or fighting Grimm.”

Whitaker chuckled. “Don’t be so negative. Getting eggs out of the pan is impossible when you first start cooking.”

“And that’s the bare minimum?” Ruby dared to ask.

Whitaker nodded once.

Both girls groaned. 

“I guess cooking is out,” Yang said.

“Same here,” Ruby bemoaned.

Whitaker sighed. He placed the plate full of food on the table. “You two girls dig in. It’s your food, after all. I’ll handle the dishes.”

A knock sounded at the entrance to the kitchen. Taiyang stood in the doorway, his arms crossed. “Did someone cook?” He asked.

“I showed the girls how to cook a simple breakfast,” Whitaker replied.

“Bacon and eggs?” Taiyang raised a brow at the food that rested between Yang and Ruby.

Whitaker nodded. “They’re easy to cook. And bacon isn’t so bad. Calories are calories— and any of the bad fats we get from bacon are burned pretty quickly. If we exercise.”

Yang grinned at her dad and lifted her arm. She flexed it, revealing well-toned biceps and triceps. 

“Fair,” Taiyang conceded. “Alright, I’m gonna head to bed girls. That game came out today, right?”

They nodded.

“Make sure you don’t leave a mess.” Taiyang looked at Whitaker. “Make sure they don’t leave a mess.”

“You can rest easy, Taiyang. I’ll make sure they don’t.”

“Good.” With a final nod, the older man left the kitchen and plodded up the stairs.

As Whitaker washed the dishes, Ruby came up beside him and set her empty plate beside the sink. “You eat fast,” Whitaker said.

“Comes with the Semblance,” Ruby replied with a shrug.

“Do you do everything faster?” He grabbed Ruby’s dish and began to wash it. 

Ruby twirled her body around, and jumped up onto the countertop, her legs dangling off of the edge. She tilted her head. “Sort of? It’s more like everything becomes slower, to the point where I don’t even know that I’m doing things faster.”

“That…” His hands stopped scrubbing. Whitaker glanced at Ruby. “That sounds a lot like my Semblance actually.”

“I thought that yours enhanced your reflexes,” Ruby countered.

Whitaker set down the last dish. “I’m not an Aura expert, but when I use my Semblance, the world  _ definitely _ slows down.”

“Do you think that’s why we—”

“Were able to see one another?” Whitaker finished. He nodded. “Yeah. I’m willing to bet on it.” He dried his hands on a nearby towel.

Yang approached the sink. “Ruby,” she said, looking straight at her sister. “Don’t tell me you’re crushing on our dear guest already?” Yang’s brow was arched dangerously— but Whitaker could  _ see _ the shit-eating grin that threatened to break free from her currently threatening countenance.

Ruby Rose, on the other hand, was as red as her entire name. Her hands desperately attempted to shield her face, but the sheer cherry-redness of her cheeks was impossible to miss.

Yang turned to Whitaker, and wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

To which, the white-haired boy sighed. “Yang. I’m nearly eighteen. Ruby is fourteen. I  _ don’t _ want to catch a case.”

“I’m fifteen!” Ruby protested. And the meaning behind her words caught up with her a moment later. “Not that I have a crush on you or anything!”

“Like that makes it any better,” Whitaker replied. He smiled softly. “Let’s go back to the living room. I’m curious to play this game you two have been really excited about.”

The look of sheer gratitude on Ruby’s face was not missed by Whitaker, to which he simply nodded at her. It wasn’t like he wanted to deal with Yang’s teasing either. And while he was somewhat sure that Ruby held a childlike crush towards him, he simply wanted to be friends with the girl— both girls, to be precise.

Ruby simply interested him more.

They were very alike.

Whitaker wasn’t sure if that was a good thing, or a bad thing.

**[;]**

Whitaker stared at his Scroll with a completely blank expression. On the screen itself was something Ruby called a ‘character-creation menu.’ In its center was a model of a well-armed teenager who was the spitting image of Whitaker. He was impressed, to say the least. While the hair-length wasn’t exactly the same, everything from the eye color, to the facial structure, and even the build was the same.

“Normally, in an RPG you would play someone that wasn’t you,” Yang explained as she finished making Whitaker’s ‘avatar.’ She handed him back the Scroll just as Ruby spoke up.

“So, in  _ The Legends of Remnant _ , there’s something called ‘classes.’ It’s basically what kind of character you are,” Ruby stated. “There’s a whole bunch. Take a look.” She motioned for him to look at her Scroll.

When he looked at Ruby’s screen, Whitaker sweat-dropped.

_ So, this is what Yang meant by playing someone that wasn’t themselves. _

To put it simply, Ruby’s character was  _ hot _ . She wore high-heeled stilettos to only further accent her already great height, she cut a beautiful hourglass figure, and had a sizable bust. More than Ruby had, at least.

“My character’s an Assassin,” she said, pointing to the twin daggers that her character wielded.

“And mine’s a Knight,” Yang interjected. She flipped her Scroll around to show her avatar.

“Uh…” Whitaker trailed off. He wasn’t sure whether or not Yang’s character surprised him or disappointed him.

It was a carbon-copy of Yang. If she were male with short-hair. Her avatar had the same shade of blonde hair, the same lilac eyes, and the same amused smirk that seemed to be eternally plastered to her face.

“Oh,” Ruby said with a giggle. “Yeah, Yang always plays a male version of herself. It’s funny.”

“At least I don’t give myself bigger boobs and make myself taller,” Yang countered.

“That’s because your boobs are already—”

Whitaker coughed. In a desperate attempt to remind the two girls that he was  _ still _ here.

On instinct, Yang’s hands flew to her chest and she glared daggers at Whitaker. The teen in question put his hands up in surrender. He was trying to prevent the conversation from heading any further in that direction.

“Moving on,” Whitaker said. “What are the other classes in this game?”

“There’s the Assassin, the Knight, the Monk, the Brawler, the Reaper, and the Samurai, and then the Duelist.”

“I’ll be the Duelist, I guess,” Whitaker said. “It sounds the most like me.” Whitaker clicked the button that selected his class on his Scroll.

And the next several hours flew by.

**[;]**

“How did you get so good?!” Ruby exclaimed as she grabbed Whitaker’s shoulders. The white-haired teen was entirely focused on the Scroll in his hands.

“I can use my Semblance on this game.”

“You’re kidding,” Yang deadpanned.

Whiaker chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I’m kidding…”

Ruby smacked the back of his shoulders. “Apologize to every gamer out there. Apologize!” She scolded.

With a quick series of movements, Whitaker obliterated the person he was facing in the Player-versus-Player arena of the game. His screen lit up with the words: “Victory!”

Whitaker set down his Scroll, and leaned back on the couch. They started playing at around 10 P.M., and it was almost 3 A.M. But, strangely enough, he wasn’t anywhere near as tired as he thought he was going to be. 

The game was much more… fun than he expected. Playing it with Yang and Ruby only made it better. The two excitable girls knew how to enjoy themselves, and Whitaker did his best to emulate that.

“Is there anything you aren’t good at, Witt?” Yang asked.

“Yeah, from what I’ve seen, you’re good at everything you do,” Ruby supplied.

“You’re good enough to skip a year at Beacon and still probably get in,” Yang began, “You’ve been on the field for half a year. You schooled me, could probably go even with Ruby, and might last a minute or two against my dad.” The blonde brawler leaned back on the couch, laying an arm on the backrest. “What gives?”

“It…” Whitaker swallowed. “It took a long time to get where I am today.”

“How long?” Ruby asked.

“Almost four years.” Whitaker let out a breath. “I worked myself to the bone. I didn’t let myself rest, relax, or breathe for a single day. I studied, trained, exercised; I did everything I could in order to become stronger.”

“Why?” Yang questioned. 

Whitaker chuckled. “So I could join my father on the field.” He brought his knees up to his chest. “I was an idiot.”

“I think that’s pretty smart of you,” Ruby countered. “If you’re good enough to skip a year, then you should be able too.”

“Not for skipping a year, but for wanting to join my father,” Whitaker corrected.

“So you think it was a mistake,” Yang offered.

“Yes, I think so.”

“That’s ignorant of you,” Ruby murmured.

Whitaker turned to Ruby. He desperately fought back a glare. “What?”

“I think that’s ignorant of you to say,” Ruby said, conviction clearer in her voice. “It wasn’t a mistake. You  _ worked _ for it.” She gazed at Whitaker. Through her glass-like silver eyes burned a fire brighter than any sun. “Like you said, you did everything you could, and to think all of that effort was a mistake is ignorant. To yourself and others. You  _ saved _ people, Witt. I’m sure of it. That’s not a mistake.”

“I…” The protest died on Whitaker’s lips. He hadn’t expected that of Ruby.

“She’s right, you know. You worked your ass off, you saved people,” Yang agreed. “That’s gotta mean something, right?”

Whitaker nodded.

“Why… why do you want to become a Huntsman, Whitaker?” Ruby asked.

“Do you two believe in Destiny?”

“Destiny?” Ruby asked. “You mean like, fate and stuff like that?”

“Yeah,” Whitaker said. “The idea that we’re all destined for something greater than ourselves.”

“I mean, I guess,” Yang said. “Is that why you want to become a Huntsman?”

He nodded. “It’s stupid, I know, but I feel like it’s the only thing that I’m good at. And I’ve always been pulled towards it. Not that I made any effort to run from it.”

Ruby raised a hand. “It’s the same for me too, honestly. Ever since…” Ruby trailed off and glanced at Yang. The two sisters shared a look. “Ever since my mom died, becoming a Huntsman is all I’ve ever tried to do.”

“What about you, Yang?” Whitaker asked.

The brawler shrugged. “My reason isn’t as grand as yours or Ruby’s. There’s a whole lot of the world out there to explore, to be a part of, to get wrapped up in; I want to do everything, experience everything I can.” She grinned. “And if I can help people along the way? Even better.”

Whitaker laughed. He wasn’t sure what else he expected. Though, there was another matter he was curious about. He set his feet back down on the floor and grabbed one of the chip bags on the coffee table. “Ruby, you mentioned your mom… If it’s alright, do you mind if I ask you what happened?” 

Ruby and Yang looked at each other once again. They had a silent conversation that included everything from raised eyebrows, head tilts, pouts, smiles, and nods.  _ Siblings doing sibling things _ , Whitaker reasoned. While they talked, Whitaker opened the bag of chips and began to idly munch on it.

Ruby turned to Whitaker. “I’m about to tell you how my mom died, and you’re eating a bag of  _ Tay’s _ ?”

Whitaker flushed and set down the chips. “I thought you two were going to be talking for a little longer. I’m sorry.”

“I was just teasing.” Ruby cleared her throat. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but Yang and I don’t exactly look like siblings.”

Glancing between the two of them, it was extremely obvious. Not sure why I didn’t notice it before Ruby pointed it out. “Now that you mention it…”

“Wait, you didn’t notice it before?” Yang asked. She pointed to her blonde hair and lilac eyes, then waved a hand at Ruby’s entire body. “We look like we’re from two different parts of the world.”

“You two just seemed so… sibling-like that it didn’t seem like you were unrelated,” Whitaker guessed. He looked to Ruby. “Go on.”

“My mom left me when I was really young,” Yang said out of the blue. “And Dad makes it a point to not answer any questions I have about her.”

“And my mom was Dad’s second wife. Her name was—”

“Summer Rose?” Whitaker asked.

Ruby’s eyes widened. “Yes, how did…”

“My dad mentioned that you looked exactly like her. If a little younger,” Whitaker said. “Your mom was a really well-known Huntress. The best of her generation, if the stories are true.”

“And she was an even better mom,” Yang commented. “After my mom left, Dad remarried with Summer.”

“She was a super-mom,” Ruby reminisced. A small smile found its way onto her lips. “She was the  _ best _ , and she had the best cookies!”

“Summer is the sole reason why Ruby has a serial addiction to cookies.”

Whitaker nodded. And, as if possessed, Ruby was currently chewing on a cookie while her hands were occupied by two additional cookies.

“How did Summer…?” Whitaker trailed off. He didn’t want to say it, even though he was fairly certain both girls were capable of handling it.

“She went out on a mission and never came back,” Ruby said. “That’s all Dad told us.”

“And you’re not curious about the truth?” Whitaker dared to ask. Maybe he was projecting. To lose a Huntress as powerful, loyal, and passionate as Summer Rose would have been difficult. Maybe it was on pur—

Whitaker  _ silenced  _ that thought.

Ruby shrugged. “If I was curious, would it matter?” She countered. “It’s in the past. And that’s something you can’t change.”

“That’s… very mature of you,” Whitaker commented.

“Ruby and I had to grow up fast,” Yang said. “After losing Summer, Dad was lost. For awhile. And Uncle Qrow wasn’t much help either.”

“Speaking of Uncle Qrow,” Ruby began. “Where’s Zwei?”

“Yeah, Uncle Qrow took him,” Yang answered. “He said it was ‘because a dog’s nose would be useful.’”

“Zwei?” Whitaker asked.

“Our dog,” Ruby said. “He was Uncle Qrow’s gift to Dad. He’s an emotional support dog.”

“Who also kills Grimm.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yup,” Ruby said, popping the ‘p’ and nodding. “He had his Aura unlocked, and we trained him to kill Grimm. He’s pretty good at it.”

“I… I feel like this is a revolutionary thing. Why is no one else doing this?”

Yang shrugged. “It’s not like everyone is willing to do that to their dog.”

“And yet you guys did.”

“We’re a bad sample,” Yang said.

“Yeah. We’re a weird family.”

_ Yeah. You’re telling me. _

**[;]**

The days passed slowly in Patch. There was less to do. And, ever since Pharos, Whitaker could actually predict how his days would go. He, along with his father, would wake up first. Then, he would shower while Esmond prepared breakfast. Once the girls were awake and ready to go, Esmond took him, Ruby, and Yang to Signal for the day. Whitaker would sit around or wander the campus grounds until it came time for combat class, and, when Esmond called for him, he would do as he asked. After Signal, the four of them went back home. Whitaker would join the girls in doing dailies for  _ The Legend of Remnant _ before jumping back into training, which usually resulted in Whitaker’s victory. Whitaker would then give the girls pointers, then he would teach them how to cook something. After that, the rest of the day depended on Whitaker’s mood; sometimes he would continue to relax with Ruby and Yang, other times he would relax and read a few things on his Scroll, but. more often than not, he chose the former.

It felt good.

Life was good right now.

No dangerous missions. No life-threatening forces of evil. No necessary evils that he had to commit.

Whitaker came to the conclusion that spending time to himself was quite possibly one of the best decisions in his life. He had to thank his father for the advice.

As it was right now, Whitaker, Yang, and Ruby sat in a small clearing in the forest that surrounded the Xiao-Long-Rose household in Patch. The blonde brawler picked at the patches of grass and examined the blades before setting them into the breeze. Ruby sat with her legs criss-crossed atop the stump of a tree near Yang. Whitaker twirled his Scroll across his fingers, his back leaning against one of the nearby trees. 

Yang sighed and rose to her feet. She turned to face Whitaker. “I can’t decide whether or not I’m surprised.”

“Same here,” Ruby murmured.

Whitaker, with a small push from his father, had taken it upon himself to ask the girls for their assistance regarding his… unique situation with one Coco Adel. He’d told Ruby and Yang about the relationship between them, how it had developed during his time at Pharos, and how Coco confessed to him the same day he was going to fight his father. While he didn’t get into detail about what she said (he left out the part where she mentioned wanting to sleep with him), he tried to give the two girls the truth.

“What do you mean?” Whitaker asked.

“I can’t believe you didn’t notice anything for  _ three whole years _ ,” Yang emphasized.

“I… I’ve never had that sort of thing happen to me!” Whitaker protested. “And I had priorities.”

“Poor girl,” both Ruby and Yang mourned.

“What should I do?”

“For starters, you should—”

“Apologize,” Whitaker finished. “I already have one written out. What else?”

“Wait, you  _ wrote _ an apology?” Ruby asked. “Are you going to mail it to her with some flowers as well?”

“Would that… be a bad idea?” Whitaker tried. He’d done some research about how to apologize to women. That was fairly popular on all of the forums he visited.

“Yeah, if she’s an old lady.” Yang rolled her eyes. “You need to call her. Let her see your face, if you can’t tell her in person.”

“And if I waited to do it in person?”

“There’s no guarantee you’ll live to see the next day,” Ruby whispered in such a manner that Witt couldn’t tell if she was serious or not.

“You’re joking, right?” Whitaker rubbed the back of his neck. When the girl in question didn’t reply, he turned to Yang, desperation in his eyes. “Yang? Is she joking?”

“If she’s as insistent as you described,” Yang began. “Then you  _ definitely _ won’t live to see the next day.”

Whitaker groaned and sank his head into his hands. 

“Wow. I can’t believe I’m seeing Whitaker, of all people, get torn up over something like this.” Yang chortled. “This is some good content.”

“Yang,” Ruby murmured.

Yang coughed. “Right, sorry. I think you should call her as soon as possible. Lay all of the cards on the table, and see what happens from there.”

“Do you think she’ll hate me?”

“That’s an unfair question to ask us,” countered Yang as she glared at him. “We’re not Coco. And she’s the only person who can give you an answer you’ll actually be happy with.”

Whitaker looked between Yang and Ruby, the latter girl nodding in agreement with Yang. “So, I guess I should give her a call.”

The girls nodded.

We shared a look.

“Right now—”

“Yes, right now!” They shouted.

“Alright, alright,” Whitaker surrendered. “I’ll call her.”

“Let’s give him some space,” Yang suggested. Ruby was already moving back towards the house. As Yang stood up to follow her, she glanced back at Whitaker. “Good luck. You might need it.”

Within a minute, Whitaker was completely alone.

He stared at his Scroll’s screen. Whitaker’s heart hammered in his chest. He had no idea why he was so nervous. Steeling himself, he opened his Scroll.

And then he called Coco Adel.

It didn’t even get through its first ring before she picked up.

Coco sat in a simple wooden chair, within a minimally decorated room. Two boys laid down in a bunk bed behind her, and a bunny faunus looked upside down from above Coco.

Dressed in a simple white t-shirt and her chocolate-brown hair in a bun, Coco’s amber eyes looked back at Whitaker with the same inquisitive expression that he had as well. She had a pen in her hand, and both of her hands pressed against her cheeks. A full minute passed of them staring at each other before Coco spoke up.

“I was wondering when you were going to call.” She looked down at the desk and scribbled something. Whitaker assumed she was doing homework.

“I…” Whitaker trailed off. “Yeah. I’m sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” Coco continued writing. “I’m sure you were busy.” She looked up at him. “What have you been up to?”

“I’m on an assignment right now, actually,” Whitaker said. He thanked the gods that Coco knew how to steer a conversation.

Coco failed to hide the surprise on her face. “Oh?”

“Esmond and I are just filling in for a teacher at Pharos while he’s out on a mission,” Whitaker explained. “Nothing too dangerous.”

“And your other missions?”

Whitaker grimaced. Coco caught it. She frowned slightly.

“If you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No!” Whitaker cut off, maybe a little too aggressively. “I… I should talk about it. I haven’t talked to anyone else about it besides Esmond.” He looked away from the screen. A wave of nervousness flooded his thoughts. “I… Nevermind, actually.” Whitaker attempted a laugh. “It’s nothing. What about you? How has Beacon been?”

“Whitaker,” Coco breathed. She set down her pen. “I’ll be right back.” She stood up from her chair and walked away from the frame, a moment later, she returned wearing a jacket over her shirt. “I’m gonna go out for a bit, guys. Don’t wait up on me for dinner.” She picked up the Scroll, and left her dorm room.

“Coco, you didn’t need to—”

“But I wanted to,” she urged. After a minute or two of walking, Coco sat down on a bench surrounded by small bushes and trees. A garden, Whitaker presumed. She held the Scroll even with her face. “What is it? What did you want to talk about?”

“Have… have you been on any missions yet?”

Coco nodded. “A few. On our first assignment, we had to track down a clan of rampaging Manticores.”

“And how did that go?” Whitaker asked. Manticores were aggressive and territorial by nature— whatever forced them to leave their territory must have either been natural or too dangerous to handle.

“Decently,” Coco said. “Fox and Yatsu, my teammates, got a little banged up. But it was nothing we couldn’t handle.” 

“I see.” Whitaker nodded. That was good. “Tell me a little about the people on your team.”

“There’s Fox,” Coco began. “He’s blind, but he’s a great Huntsman. Then, there’s Yatsuhashi— we mainly call him Yatsu though—, he’s the strong, silent type with a pretty harsh protective streak. And last but not least is Velvet. She’s great. And  _ very _ pretty.”

Whitaker chuckled. “Sounds like quite a crew. Especially with you in the mix.”

She winked at him. “Thanks.”

“Any other exciting missions?”

Coco rested a finger upon her lips in thought. “Well, most recently, we went to a town called Verdant. Do you know it? A settlement south-west of Vale?”

Whitaker froze. 

“Well, anyways, we had to check up on the negativity there,” Coco continued. “Apparently a team of Huntsmen roughed up some of the faunus, and things were getting a little hectic, so they sent us in to alleviate some of the Grimm.” Coco raised a brow at Whitaker. “Witt? Are you…” She trailed off. Her eyes widened in realization. “That team was you, wasn’t it?”

Whitaker nodded once.

“Whitaker, the faunus called you and your father murderers. They were rioting, holding White Fang flags, and throwing the entire town into chaos. What did you do?”

“What did I do?” Whitaker asked. “What I had to.”

“What you had to?” Coco covered her mouth in horror. “Whitaker… Did— did you kill…?” She trailed off.

“I did.”

“Whitaker—”

“Not by choice,” Whitaker said. “I… I would have avoided it if I could. But the mission—”

“Whitaker, you took _ lives _ .”

“I  _ saved _ them!” Whitaker seethed. “You weren’t there. You could never understand. I made a choice. I chose the lesser evil.”

Coco’s anger was unhidden now. “Then you shouldn’t have chosen at all,” she spat.

Whitaker laughed. “The world doesn’t give us that luxury. We’re  _ Huntsmen _ , Coco. We make decisions based on one thing and one thing alone. What is going to protect the people of Vale?” Whitaker held Coco’s gaze. “When the White Fang  _ chose _ to become a terrorist organization, when those faunus  _ chose _ to join them, and when put the lives of  _ my  _ people in danger…” Behind the ice of Whitaker’s blue eyes, a cold flame burned brighter than any star. “They became no worse than the Grimm.”

“How can you even say that?” Coco pressed. “They’re still  _ people _ , they’re fighting for their rights—”

“By putting lives in danger? By gathering enough Dust to wipe Verdant off the map?” Whitaker countered.

“Well, I didn’t know that—”

“Yet here we are. Arguing.” Whitaker glared at her. He let out a deep sigh, and his expression softened.

“I’m sorry,” Coco murmured. “What I said was out of line.”

“I forgive you,” Whitaker replied. He smiled softly at her. “I… I just went through a lot that day. What I did wasn’t easy. The decision I made wasn’t made lightly.” He looked at her. “The last thing I wanted on our first time talking to each other in months was to fight.”

“Yeah.” Coco swallowed. “Same here.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that.

“Coco,” Whitaker began after a minute. “I wanted to talk about what you said to me before I left.”

Her cheeks flushed with red. She attempted to hide her smile, but failed miserably. “Okay. Sure. I was totally prepared for this.”

Whitaker rubbed the back of his head. “I’m… I’m not sure if you’re going to like what I have to say.”

Coco’s expression shifted entirely. The smile vanished. Her cheeks paled. Her eyes dimmed. “Oh. I see.”

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you a faster response.” Whitaker met Coco’s eyes. “I was confused. I wasn’t sure how I felt towards you, but I talked to some friends. They made it easy to realize where my head was. How I was feeling.”

“And I’m guessing that you don’t feel the same way?” Coco’s expression was blank now, as if she wasn’t entirely paying attention to what he was saying. 

“Yes,” Whitaker confirmed. “I… I think of you as a close friend. My best friend. And I trust you with my life, with everything. But I’m not sure if I see you as a lover.”

“And why not?” She challenged with a raised brow. 

“I just don’t, I think that—”

“Whitaker?” Ruby interrupted. She came up from behind the tree that he was leaning against. She glanced at the Scroll screen and her eyes met with Coco’s. Then, she hid her head behind Whitaker’s shoulder. “Dad wants you to come back home. When you’re done. Or now.” She waved at Coco. “Nice… to meet you. Okay, bye!” And with a flutter of rose petals, she vanished. Whitaker continued to stare at the place where the girl previously stood.

Coco raised a brow at Whitaker.

“Who was that?”

“Ruby.”

“She had—”

“Silver eyes,” Whitaker finished. He smiled fondly. “She’s strong. And a good friend.”

Whitaker and Coco sat in silence for a time again. Neither of them wanted to reignite the conversation. When Whitaker glanced at Coco’s image on the Scroll, she had her camera turned away from her face.

He could swear that he heard someone crying in the background.

“Are you… gonna go?”

Whitaker shook his head. “Not until I’m done here.”

“Do you think you could?” She asked suddenly.

“Could what?”

“In time, could you see me as a lover?” She repeated.

“Maybe,” Whitaker said. “Maybe not. Have you ever considered…?”

“Getting over you?” Coco offered. She grinned. “I’ve thought about it. But giving up just doesn’t suit me.”

“And if you lose?”

Coco shrugged. “That’s a big ‘if.’” She grinned a classic Coco Adel grin. But there was something off about it. It looked forced. Almost. “You’re  _ mine _ , Whitaker. And if it doesn’t end up that way, then you’re still mine. As each other’s best friends.”

“I… I can work with that.” Whitaker laughed.

She nodded. Then, a solemn look overshadowed the smile. “Just… give me a chance, alright? A fair chance.”

“Do you expect anything less of me?” Whitaker asked. “I did spend a lot of the time we sparred at Pharos looking at your ass—”

Coco flushed. She coughed into her hand. “I see.” 

“Alright. I’ll let you go now, Whitaker.”

Witt nodded. “I’ll text you when I find time.”

“Bye, Whitaker.” Coco waved.

“See you in a bit.”

With a click, Whitaker ended the call.

A long sigh left him.

That was… more than he expected. But it went, strangely enough, also exactly as he expected. It felt like forever since he last spoke with Coco, yet everything felt so natural. Their banter was still the same, their interesting way of conversing, mannerisms, it made him warm on the inside. It felt like home.

Whitaker realized it then.

Whitaker Ash desperately missed Coco Adel.

**[;]**

Coco Adel stared at the blank screen of her Scroll as Whitaker ended the call. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged them.

_Idiot._ _He’s an idiot. An emotionless, ignorant idiot._

She shook her head, desperate to rid herself of those thoughts. Coco understood. Who wouldn’t? She saw the look in his eyes when he spoke to that Ruby girl, when he talked  _ about _ her… 

It hurt. It hurt to see him look at another girl the same way he once looked at her. As a friend, a  _ best friend _ , as someone he could trust implicitly, as someone he could…

Coco pushed it aside. She pushed everything aside. She tried to. But she couldn’t shake the possibility that she was being _ replaced _ . 

Her hands tightened.

It made her angry. Furious even. Unreasonably so. She knew she was being unreasonable, that what she was feeling was wrong.

She didn’t own him. She was his friend, his best friend, someone that should support him through everything in his life, that should be there as a shoulder to lean on.

_ And if he finds someone else? _

That thought scared Coco more than any Grimm.

**[;]**

Whitaker stared at Ruby from across the table. The girl looked intensely at her Scroll, her eyes scanning left and right as she read what Whitaker had sent her. She had her legs atop the chair and the Scroll on her lap.

“Why are you teaching me this?” Ruby asked, glancing up at Whitaker.

“Because you’re strong. Stronger than you can even imagine,” he replied.

“And so is Yang,” she countered. 

Whitaker shrugged. “I never said she wasn’t strong, Ruby.” He smirked. “But your sister would rather skip straight to punching instead of the planning. Like she’s doing now.” He pointed his thumb outside where Yang was probably getting her ass handed to her by Taiyang.

Ruby giggled. “That’s… that’s fair.”

Whitaker placed a hand on the table. “Do you think you understand it?”

Ruby nodded. “It’s easy enough to get. Play to your team’s strengths, make the most out of any situation, have pre-prepared plans that can be freely executed.”

“Then let’s see you in action.”

“Wait,” Ruby began. “What? What do you mean?”

Whitaker stood up and began to move towards the front door of the house. “We’re going to go Grimm hunting.”

“Right now?!”

Whitaker nodded. “With Yang and my dad.”

“Wait, why not  _ my  _ dad?”

“Taiyang declined,” Whitaker explained. “He said it would be better practice with a team of four.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question—”

“Anyways,” Whitaker interrupted. “Let’s go! Yang and my dad are probably waiting for us.” 

Whitaker watched as Ruby twirled her scythe in her hand before sticking the blade into the ground, firing a shot to propel herself into the air, front-flip twice before sinking the end of the scythe into a Beowolf.

Another Beowolf growled to his left, and Whitaker, without even looking, ran it through with Lightning. As the Grimm collapsed, its black, oily skin melting into the ground, leaving nothing behind but its bony mask.

Esmond came up behind Whitaker, both of them watched Ruby cut down Grimm left and right. The silver-eyed warrior left ruin in her wake. Her sister, Yang, while talented, only managed to kill a quarter of the Grimm that Ruby did.

“She’s… really good,” Whitaker breathed.

“Almost scary?” Esmond asked.

“Almost.”

“You two just gonna stand around?” Ruby called, ducking beneath the swipe of a Beowolf. “Whitaker,  _ you’re _ the one that suggested we go Grimm hunting.”

“Nevermind. She’s just scary,” Whitaker corrected.

Esmond laughed.

Both Ash’s rushed towards the girls and joined the fray.

And a field of white bones surrounded their home in Patch.

**[;]**

Whitaker wrapped his hands around the mug that Taiyang sat before him. The two men were the early-risers of the house, but this was one of the few times that they actually had a chance to talk alone, most of the time, Whitaker was wrapped up in his Grimm studies or something and Taiyang spent the mornings exercising or running errands around the house.

The white-haired teen sipped at the coffee, enjoying the warmth it spread through him. He looked at Taiyang. “Is there any reason in particular as to why you looked so eager to talk to me this morning?” He asked.

Taiyang hummed. “I suppose it’s because I wanted to thank you.”

Whitaker raised a brow. “Why?”

The blonde man tilted his head to the ceiling. “For being friends with my daughters. Especially Ruby.”

“It’s nothing,” Whitaker said.

“You’ve got a bad habit of downplaying things, Witt.” Taiyang shook his head and smiled. “Ruby’s eyes. They’re silver. And because of that, people are always trying to be friends with her.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Until she realizes that it’s  _ only _ for her silver eyes,” Taiyang muttered bitterly. “But you were different.”

“I… I suppose.”

“Did you become friends with her for her eyes?”

Whitaker shrugged. His father did tell him to befriend Ruby, but for a better reason than simply because she had silver eyes. Sure, it may have stemmed from that. However, at the end of the day, Whitaker chose to be friends with her because he saw himself in her, and he wanted to help her become stronger. “Not entirely.”

“Not entirely?”

“Ruby is a lot like me. At least, I think so. In the sense that we both believe we’re Destined to become Huntsmen, that we didn’t  _ choose _ this field, that it chose  _ us _ .”

“That sounds like something Ruby would agree with.” Hearing it come from the girl’s father was as good a confirmation as any. “Did she tell you?” Taiyang asked. “About her mother?”

Whitaker nodded. “On the first night that I was here,” he revealed. “And Yang also told me about hers as well. I’m sorry.”

Taiyang waved a hand dismissively at his apology. “It’s in the past. More importantly.” Taiyang leaned forward. “I’m more impressed that you got both of my children to reveal that to you in less than twelve hours.”

“Uh…” Whitaker trailed off. “Should I be worried?”

Taiyang laughed and relaxed. “No. I trust you. Well, more like I trust your sense of self-preservation.”

“A very good thing to put trust into,” Whitaker said with a smirk.

“Good.”

Both men shared a laugh and sipped more of the coffee.

“It’s hard to believe that I’ve been here for almost four months,” Whitaker said suddenly.

“Has it really been that long?” Taiyang sounded like he could hardly believe it.

“Yeah,” Whitaker confirmed. “Qrow is coming back some time next week, right?”

“That he is,” Taiyang said. “And I assume you and Esmond are leaving the week after that.”

Whitaker nodded. “He mentioned something about an ‘end-of-the-year test.’ So I’ve been reading as much as I can on Grimm for the last two months.”

“Do you ever stop working so hard?” Taiyang suddenly asked.

“I…” Whitaker chuckled. “This is actually me not working as hard as I usually do.”

“Seriously?”

“If I was home, I would probably be in my room, studying, or at a training room in Pharos, practicing my forms.”

“That’s… that’s some serious passion you got there.”

“Tell me about it.” Whitaker laughed.

“Does it worry Esmond?”

Whitaker nodded. “When we first arrived, he actually scolded me into taking a break from training and studying so seriously.”

Taiyang nodded. “Good on him.”

“I’m assuming you had to do the same with Ruby?”

“You wouldn’t even know the—” Taiyang cut himself off. “Actually, you probably would. Anyways, about a year ago, Ruby lived and breathed training and weapon-sketching. I remember she once spent seven hours inside of a training room at Signal, and by the time I got around to fetching her, she’d wrecked about two-hundred of the bots.” Taiyang smiled. “Imagine that. A fourteen year-old girl, swinging around a scythe like it was a feather, cutting down bots like they were nothing.”

Whitaker could imagine it. She was probably smiling the whole time too.

“And it wasn’t like Qrow helped her any. He personally trained her with a scythe after Ruby showed him her weapon sketches,” Taiyang explained. “She spent six months drawing up that weapon. Her part of the room was filled with so many pieces of paper, that even  _ Yang _ knew how the weapon worked.”

“Sounds like she was pretty driven.”

“‘Pretty driven’ is putting it lightly,” Taiyang said. “She was obsessed. It even got to the point where she asked me to sign up for a subscription to a weekly weapon magazine— said it was for ‘research purposes.’”

Whitaker tilted his head. “Well, did you?”

Taiyang threw his hands up in the air. “Of course I did! How could I say no to my own daughter’s puppy-eyes?”

_ Fair. Not sure if I would be able to deny Ruby either. _

“That year…” Taiyang began softly. “That was the tenth anniversary of Summer’s death. I think that was the reason why Ruby was so driven that year.”

“That makes sense,” Whitaker said with a nod. 

“When I finally managed to corner her, to tell her to slow down, she wouldn’t accept it. She said something about a ‘duty’ and a ‘promise she made to Mom.’” Taiyang’s hands gripped the mug tighter. Whitaker could swear that the steam that rose from the coffee had doubled. “I asked her, I begged her to take a break, to take things slower, to calm down.” Taiyang was fighting back tears now. Whitaker wasn’t entirely sure what to do. “And when she looked at me, she just… nodded. And said ‘okay, Dad.’”

“And then?”

Taiyang swallowed. “And then she stopped. She spent a normal amount of time training, her obsession with weapons lessened, and she took things slower. She did what I asked of her to a ‘T.’”

“Why… why are you telling me this?”

Taiyang looked hard at Whitaker. “Because to this day, I still have no idea what ‘promise’ or ‘duty’ she was referring to.”

“Maybe it was in a dream?” Whitaker offered.

Taiyang shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. But Ruby was different after that day.”

“And you want me to find out why?”

Taiyang nodded once.

“Should I be concerned for her if I find the reason why?”

Taiyang shook his head. “It’s a personal concern,” he said. “I know it sounds like some elaborate plan, but it’s not.” He smiled easily. “You’re one of Ruby’s first _ real _ friends, and that means a lot to me, to Yang, and to Ruby. I just want to avoid another year like that.”

“Alright,” Whitaker said. “I’ll do it.”

**Something strange is happening here… Hopefully you guys enjoyed this one. A bit slower, a lot of character development/exposition, and a slight push of the plot.**

**Some readers may have noticed that the pairings have been updated. Yes, this is going to be a Whitaker/Ruby story. But don’t expect any actual feelings to develop for some time.**

**4-Skywalker - Hey, thanks for reviewing, and the pairing is going to be Whitaker/Ruby.**


	5. CHAPTER THREE - ATLAS I

**This chapter is a little longer. Lots of content to get through, as well as a decent amount of worldbuilding.**

**Enjoy.**

* * *

"It's hard to believe that's already been four months. And that you're already leaving!" Ruby exclaimed with a frown. "Uncle Qrow just got here!"

"Yeah, it's a little sad," Yang commented. "I kind of wanted you to see you spar my Uncle."

"Maybe one day," Whitaker said. He glanced at the three older men who were currently having a conversation some ways away from them. Whitaker rested his palm atop the handle for his luggage bag. "I wish I could stay a little longer, but Esmond said we need to start my end-of-the-year test."

"Did he tell you what it's going to be?" Ruby asked

"Wouldn't be much of a test if he told Witt, Rubes."

"Oh. Right." Ruby flushed.

"I mean, he said something about a ruin near Atlas Academy," Whitaker said. He placed his hands inside of his jacket pocket. Just the thought of Atlas made his internal temperature drop. "But I did a lot of research and nothing came up besides the ones near the Pale Cliffs. And that area is closed off for the entrance exam preparations."

"They can close off an entire mountain?" Ruby asked.

"No, it's more like if they catch you inside while it's closed off, then you end up in a lot of trouble," Whitaker explained.

"Back on topic," Yang steered. "So your dad lied?"

Whitaker shook his head. "Esmond isn't the type to lie. Omit truth, maybe. But he'd never lie."

"That's fair. Well, good luck on your test, Witt." Yang stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

Whitaker patted her on the shoulder. "Keep practicing. Remember what Esmond and I taught you." Whitaker pulled away and smiled.

"'Use your Semblance as a single, finishing strike. Not a way to overpower your opponent,'" Yang recited.

"Exactly."

Ruby jumped up and attached herself onto Whitaker, hugging him tightly and wrapping her legs around his waist. She buried her head in his neck. "I won't see you for two years! This is going to make up for the lack of time we see each other."

Whitaker chuckled and ruffled Ruby's hair. "Alright, alright."

"Well, well, well, Rubes," a voice that seemed desperate for water muttered. Qrow approached from behind Yang, the other two men in tow. Qrow wore the same shit-eating grin he'd seen on Yang. "Looks like you finally got yourself a boyfriend."

The girl, in a flash of rose petals, detached herself from Whitaker and stood about fifteen feet away from him now. "He's not my boyfriend!"

"Right," Qrow drawled. "Your face is the same color as your cape, by the way."

Ruby yelped and retreated into the house, petals fluttering in the wind as she did so.

Whitaker rolled his eyes. He smiled at Qrow. "Good to see you again, Qrow."

"Not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing that hearing you say my first name like that feels normal."

Whitaker shrugged. "Maybe it's the overwhelming sense of maturity I exude despite being a seventeen year-old boy."

"Okay, you've gotta loosen up that ego of yours, kid."

"Never mentioned an ego. And I said 'maybe.'"

"Right." Qrow rubbed the back of his head. "Thanks for covering my class while I was out, by the way. Esmond told me you did some good work."

"It's—" Whitaker cut himself off. "You're welcome. Spending time in Patch taught me some valuable things as well."

"Really?"

Whitaker nodded.

"Good," Qrow said. "You've got a lot of potential. Don't lose yourself." Qrow turned to his father as he approached. "Good job on telling your kid to slow it down. I would've done it myself the first time I met him, but I figured you would see it sooner or later."

"I wanted to see if he could see it himself first," Esmond said. "But I appreciate the concern." Esmond turned to Whitaker. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Whitaker said, patting the handle of his luggage. While he felt more than a little bittersweet about leaving the Xiao-Long-Rose home in Patch, the excitement and eagerness to face his final test overcame that bittersweet sensation. And after his test, he would be in Beacon.

Whitaker Ash grinned.

_Time to kick some Grimm ass._

"Do you two need a ride back to the Bullhead landing pad?"

Esmond raised his hand. "We already have a ride," Esmond said.

Seemingly on queue, a pale car emerged from the forest road that led up to the house. Its sleek, modern design stood in stark contrast to the natural environment that surrounded it. If anything, it _screamed_ Schnee.

"Uh…" Whitaker trailed off.

The door to the car opened vertically, and a tall, pale-skinned woman with hair as white as snow and eyes as blue as ice stepped out from the driver's side of the car. She stood at an impressive height, her posture was impeccable, and her hands rested behind her back. She walked towards the group.

"Winter Schnee," Qrow mumbled.

"Ah, you know one another?" Esmond asked.

"I wish I didn't."

"The sentiment is the same on my end, Qrow Branwen," Winter shot back. She glared cold daggers at the man, before turning her gaze to Esmond and Whitaker. "Cousin, Uncle." She bowed her head at Esmond. "It is good to see you two once again. And this time not at a family gathering."

Esmond smiled. "I am glad you are well, Winter." He looked to Whitaker and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Did you say your goodbyes?"

Whitaker looked back to Yang and Ruby, who was making her way out of the house with a small plastic bag in her hands.

Ruby approached Whitaker. She thrust her hands forward. Upon closer inspection, Whitaker saw that it was a baggie full of small cookies. "It's a gift," Ruby said. "Yang and I made it this morning."

"Should… Should I be worried?" Whitaker asked, taking the bag with two fingers and holding it away from him like it was going to explode.

"I helped," Taiyang offered. "They did pretty well."

"Oh, okay." Whitaker stuffed the bag into his jacket pocket. "Thank you, Ruby. Yang."

"Don't mention it," Yang waved off. "Just make sure you eat 'em. Otherwise Ruby will know."

The girl's eyes narrowed into daggers as she furiously nodded.

"Warning received, warning received." Whitaker raised his hands in surrender. Then, he smiled.

"We should leave soon," Winter interjected. She had her Scroll in her hands, the screen illuminating her face. "Our Bulkhead will leave in approximately forty minutes."

Esmond nodded. "Alright, you heard her. Let's get going."

Ruby and Yang hugged Whitaker one last time, while Qrow and Taiyang each shook his hand. As Whitaker and Esmond rolled their belongings toward the car, placing their luggage inside of the trunk, Whitaker waved one last time at the people he'd grown incredibly close with.

They waved back.

Ruby's entire arm excitedly swung back and forth while she seemed to be fighting back tears. Yang casually waved her hand, a small smile on her face. Qrow's wave was much the same as Yang's, though his smile was closer to a smirk. And Taiyang offered Whitaker a salute that transformed into an open hand.

It amazed Whitaker.

_Four months. Just four months._

He felt refreshed, like life had been injected into him once again. After spending four months relaxing, the young Huntsman was more ready than ever to face whatever dangers Remnant threw at him.

Destiny called to Whitaker Ash.

And he responded in earnest.

**[;]**

While Winter drove them to the Bullhead landing zone, Esmond pulled out his Scroll and spoke up.

"Winter, I assume you are informed of what is going on?"

The oldest Schnee child nodded. "General Ironwood keeps his Specialists informed of most international matters. And I am one of his best and most trusted Specialists."

"I wasn't aware that the good General plays favorites," Esmond commented.

"My record speaks for itself."

"Fair enough." Esmond turned to Whitaker. He handed the white-haired teen the Scroll. "That's the debriefing page. In short, you're going on a solo mission."

Whitaker's hands gripped the Scroll. "What?"

"As a test. I've already told you, since you're technically skipping a year of Beacon, this will serve as your end-of-the-year competency test."

"No, I know that," Whitaker said. "But solo? And based on what you asked Winter, this is something highly classified and dangerous!"

"Winter?" Esmond called.

"The mission you are being assigned is a standard _Search_ mission," Winter began, her voice perfectly neutral as if she were reading straight off a report. "You have seventy-two hours to locate the ruins as described in the mission file. You will be given full control over this mission, as well as access to Atlas Academy's armory and databases for any research you wish to do. The mission officially begins in a month's time, by which you are expected to have prepared a mission protocol, as well as a mission objective for yourself."

"A month from now?"

Esmond nodded. "This will likely be the single most difficult thing you have done in your entire life."

"Sounds like it," Whitaker murmured. But he couldn't deny that it got his blood pumping with excitement. "Anything else I should know?"

"For the time being, you will be stationed at Atlas Academy as a transfer student," Winter explained. "You will live in a singles dorm, but you will not be attending any classes or joining a team."

"Good." That would have been too much to handle.

"You are also forbidden from asking or informing those around you about the ruins. This is _classified_ and _sensitive_ information, Whitaker," she emphasized.

"I understand."

"You are also forbidden from asking those who are involved with the mission about the ruins."

"Is it safe to assume you guys already know everything there is about these ruins?"

Winter glanced at Esmond. Esmond nodded once.

"Yes, we do."

_So they can grade how well I did in terms of preparation and execution_ , Whitaker determined. "Okay. What else?"

"That's all for now," Winter reported. "More information will be sent to you through your Scroll as the mission approaches."

"I have a question," Whitaker said. "What happens if I fail?"

Esmond smirked. "Do you think you will?"

"No. But if—"

"Then there's no point in asking, right?"

"I…" Whitaker trailed off. "Call me curious, I guess."

"Should you fail," Winter interrupted. "Then you will likely be admitted into Beacon as a first-year student."

"Oh. That's…"

"Not as bad as you were expecting?" Winter finished.

"Yeah."

"I believe it is fair to say that it would be a waste of your talents to _not_ allow you into a Huntsman Academy. And if Beacon did not accept you, then Atlas Academy would have gladly taken you in. On my personal recommendation."

Whitaker bowed his head, slightly surprised at her comment. "Thank you, Winter."

"You are welcome."

"Winter, don't butter him up just because you want him to spar you."

Winter cut Esmond a glare. "It is quite rude of you to assume that would be the sole reason why I would—"

"I would be happy to spar you."

"Really?" Winter failed to hide the excitement in her voice.

"I… I guess?" Whitaker tried. "I'm not really sure why you're so interested though."

"Well, your Semblance intrigues me. It seems like a good way to practice my accuracy with both my glyphs and my summons."

"Both…?" Whitaker knew of the Schnee Semblance. And he knew that Winter Schnee was a master of her glyphs, and more than that, she was a very skilled Huntress and Specialist of Atlas.

"Why, yes. Did you think I was going to hold back?"

Whitaker sighed. "No, I suppose not."

"Good."

**[;]**

The flight from Patch to Atlas Academy was a little over twelve hours. Normally, it would have taken around fifteen, but thanks to the personal Bullheads created by the Schnee Dust Company, they had more than a few upgrades compared to the regular Bullheads. Most of which were classified. Unfortunately.

Whitaker could hardly remember the last time he traveled to Atlas (or Mantle for that matter). Maybe it was almost five years ago, maybe even ten. Ever since his mother, Aurelia, married his father, they rarely went back to Atlas. When they did, it was for enjoyment, or because Esmond was personally invited to an event.

From what he _could_ remember, the last time he came to Atlas was the year before he started Pharos. That was when he first met Weiss.

Whitaker chuckled at the memory.

Winter caught his laugh from the opposite side of the Bullhead. She raised a brow.

"Just reminiscing," Whitaker offered. "About when I first met Weiss."

Winter smiled at the mention of her sister. "Yes, you two look… quite similar."

"Is it even more apparent now?"

Winter narrowed her eyes. She scrutinized Whitaker intently. A few moments later, she nodded once. "Besides her scar, feminine features, and unfortunate altitude, you look quite like her. The hair length is the same as well."

"I suppose I should cut my hair then."

Winter shrugged. "Do what you wish. I find that it suits you."

Whitaker attempted to picture himself with short hair. It was… normal. Standard. Nothing too exciting. He set aside the possibility for a haircut, which he hadn't had since he was ten.

"We'll be touching down at Atlas Academy in ten," the pilot announced. He went on to ask the CCT for clearance, and in the meantime, Whitaker began to buckle himself into his chair.

Winter interrupted him. "You won't need to do that. This Bullhead is advanced enough that we're able to move freely while it lands."

"That seems… pointlessly excessive."

"It is," she began, "until you need the stability for air-to-ground fire support or rescue."

"Fair." Whitaker hummed. "We're in Atlas territory now, right?"

Winter nodded.

"And, technically speaking, my mission has already begun, right?"

She nodded once again.

"And this Bullhead would technically be classified as Atlas Academy property, right?"

Winter sighed. "Yes. You can requisition this Bullhead on your mission." She smirked. "Good luck finding a pilot, though."

"I'm sure someone at Atlas would be willing to fly me."

"A student? You are aware that telling—"

Whitaker shook his head. "No, an official member."

Winter only appeared more confused.

"One General Ironwood as my pilot, please."

Winter facepalmed.

Esmond, who had likely been listening to the conversation the entire time, let out a boisterous laugh. When he was done, he was wiping fake tears from the corners of his eyes. "He got you there, Winter."

"I…" Winter trailed off. "I will mention it to him."

"Thanks," Whitaker said with a smirk.

**[;]**

When the Bullhead eased itself onto the landing pad, the cargo bay doors lowered, and the signature chilling cold of Atlas burst into the Bullhead. Whitaker quickly found that the light jacket that he had been wearing in Patch was entirely useless in Atlas. Just as he began to shiver, Winter tossed him a blue, thick winter parka. She donned her own parka with a nod in Whitaker's direction.

"Thanks," he murmured, sliding the coat on.

Esmond came up from the cockpit wearing a white long coat that came down to his knees. He stared out from the cargo bay, standing between Whitaker and Winter.

"Nice coat," Whitaker commented. His father was already looking rather Schnee-like.

"Were it not for your hair and eyes," Winter began. "People would think you were our father."

"Perhaps it's for the best that I look differently then."

Winter looked at Esmond earnestly. "I would much rather have you as my father."

Esmond was stunned. "I—"

"Unfortunately," Winter interjected, bitterness seeping into her voice. "That will not be happening any time soon."

A low voice called out from the landing pad. "Looking like quite the motley crew." The remark came from none other than Atlas Academy's Headmaster, and the General of the Atlesian Military, James Ironwood. He wore standard Atlas Military attire, with the signature five silver stars lined in a row along his collar that signified his rank as General. A small small graced his normally stern face.

Esmond walked down to Ironwood, Winter right at his heels. Whitaker rolled his luggage down carefully, his gaze flicked between Ironwood and Esmond as the two engaged in quiet conversation.

"Hello," Ironwood said as Whitaker came down to greet him. "It is good to finally meet you as a Huntsman, Whitaker. At least one in training."

Whitaker saw Winter snap to a salute and quickly moved to mimic her.

"At ease. Both of you." Ironwood sighed.

"It's good to see you as well, sir," Whitaker said. The thought to call the general by Ironwood had passed him, but it was nothing like calling his father by his first name. It felt almost… insulting. That, and Winter never did it.

Ironwood looked to Winter. "Specialist."

"Sir." Winter fought a salute. "I suppose you will be accompanying us to the Academy?"

Ironwood shook his head. "Unfortunately, I have a council meeting to attend." The general's eyes flicked to Whitaker. "And a young Huntsman has a test to prepare for." He brought his hands to rest behind his back. "Esmond, I will be meeting with you later as we discussed."

"Right."

"Now," Ironwood said. "I must depart. I look forward to seeing you once again, Whitaker."

Whitaker bowed his head. "You as well, sir."

With that, the general turned on his heel and began walking towards another Bullhead just as it began to land right beside the Schnee-model Bullhead. Whitaker jogged up to Winter, his luggage bag rolling on the asphalt, and nudged her with his elbow.

"I thought you were going to mention it to him?" Whitaker asked.

The woman clicked her tongue. "I will mention it to him another time. I can't be asking things of my superiors when I meet them for the first time in a day."

Whitaker chuckled. Despite their age difference, and Winter's greater-than-average height, Whitaker still stood a good three inches over her.

"Are you sure that you and Weiss are related?" Whitaker asked. "I mean… she might have grown, but she's still—"

"Weiss' height is unfortunate," Winter said with a sigh. "But yes, she and I are blood-related sisters."

Whitaker chuckled.

"Whitaker, Winter," Esmond called. "I'm going to be leaving you two for a bit. I have some errands to run in Mantle."

"Of course," Winter replied. "I will have someone bring your things to your room."

"Thank you, Winter." Esmond turned back to the Bullhead, his hand waving back to both of them.

Winter looked to Whitaker. "Shall we carry on?"

The teen nodded.

"Would you like a tour of the Academy grounds?"

Whitaker shrugged. "A map works too."

Winter sighed. "I will pretend that I did not hear that. For your self-preservation in Atlas, learn to accept any courtesy that is extended to you."

"Ah. Right," Whitaker recalled. He'd forgotten Atlas' strange obsession with courtesy. _Despite being criticized as one of the few nations that actively discriminates against faunus._

"I shall take you to your room first, I suppose," Winter said.

And with that, Whitaker followed his older cousin through the grounds of Atlas Academy.

**[;]**

The days passed slowly in Atlas. Much slower than what Whitaker had grown used to during the four months he spent in Patch, at least. Here in Atlas, there was not much time to sightsee, play _Legend of Remnant_ (though he still occasionally logged on and ran a few instances with Ruby and Yang), or relax.

He visited the library at Atlas Academy nearly every day. Whitaker spent hours, even days on end reading, researching, and taking notes. _It's like I'm back in school_ , he mused. The only difference this time was that his year as a Huntsman's apprentice was on the line. Not so much his future as a Huntsman, but what he learned from that year.

If Whitaker failed, it would mean that he learned _nothing_.

And Whitaker Ash could not accept that.

He scoured Atlas history. Remnant was covered in ruins, and Solitas was no different. But nearly all of them had been discovered, excavated, and any artifacts or pieces of art were brought to the Museum of History in Atlas. The idea to visit the museum had occurred to him, but Whitaker believed it would have been a pointless affair.

The mission specifically required him to locate the ruins described in the dossier— not that the description helped any, it was so poorly written that Whitaker could hardly believe it even made it into the dossier.

**Ruin Description: A large stone entrance. Unsure of actual size. Found in northern Solitas. Appears to be a tomb, crypt, or mausoleum.**

The location helped some. However, everything in northern Solitas was either pure ice, buried beneath miles of snow, or stuck in a glacier. Whitaker knew that it wasn't likely that he would find the ruins unless he was there in person. And the only time that would happen is once the mission officially began. Which was a little less than a month from now.

Something that did catch his interest, however, was the lack of conflict in Solitas compared to the other continents. Before the Great War, there were only two recorded instances of major wars or battles— while the other continents, Sanus, Anima, and even Menagerie could fill entire bookshelves with how many wars there were before the Great War.

Whitaker let out a long, heavy sigh as he returned the history book to its place on the shelf. It was a strange thing.

Solitas has about as many document ruins as Sanus or Anima, but nowhere near as many wars. While ruin followed in the wake of war, as did civilization, peace, and advancements in technology and ideology. One civilization falls. Another rises. One civilization rises too far, and it falls. War brought change. And ruins were a sign of change.

So _why_ were there so many ruins and so few wars?

**[;]**

Whitaker sat within the arms of a black chair upholstered with intricately designed, blue fabric. Directly across from him, sat his younger cousin, Weiss Schnee, wearing a dress as white as snow. Her hands rested neatly in her lap as she glanced between Whitaker, Esmond, and her father. To Weiss' left, further from his father, sat little Whitley Schnee, looking like a miniature version of Jacques.

To be honest, the kid put Whitaker off. He always seemed to be scheming, to be planning something much like his father, but Whitaker wasn't sure if he even fully understood what he was doing, much less emulating. Yet there he sat with impeccable posture, a perfectly neutral countenance, and his eyes as straight as an arrow.

To Weiss' right, seated right next to Jacques was Winter. She wore her Specialist uniform, and in classic Winter style, was extremely disciplined.

Seated at the head of the table was none other than Jacques Schnee, Head of the Schnee Dust Company, and father of the Schnee family. After not seeing the man for almost five years, he looked even _older_ now. It seemed that the recent successes of the SDC did not make his life any easier. His hair was fraying, his hairline was receding, and Whitaker could see how the stress impacted him.

"How has your year of training gone, Whitaker?" Jacques asked, resting his hands atop the white cloth of the table. "It is my understanding that you opted to apprentice as a Huntsman for a year than attend Beacon, correct?"

Whitaker curtly nodded. "It went well. I learned much, and did what I could to help those I was around during my assignments. I am more than a little excited, however, to officially begin my time at Beacon."

"That is good," Jacques said. "Weiss, I believe you ultimately decided to study at Atlas Academy?"

The young girl did not at _all_ look happy about Jacques bringing that up. _Guess it wasn't her decision, then_. But she still wore a perfect look of courtesy. "Yes," she said through a forced smile. "I'm happy to stay here in Atlas while I train to become a Huntress."

"Perhaps that is for the best," Whitaker commented. "I'm sure that she will come to miss home within a month of being at Beacon."

Weiss looked absolutely abhorred.

Whitaker smirked.

"Nevertheless," Esmond interjected from beside Whitaker. "Thank you, Jacques, for allowing my son and I to join you for dinner. Unfortunately, Whitaker has a test to prepare for and he will need every spare second he can get."

Jacques bowed his head slightly. "Of course, Esmond."

Esmond's chair screeched slightly as he pushed away from the table. He motioned for Whitaker to follow him. But Whitaker had other ideas.

"Actually, I want to catch up with Weiss," Whitaker said, throwing a glance at his younger cousin's direction. Weiss was shocked. "Just leave a Bullhead for me?" He suggested.

"I will have a Bullhead drop you off at Atlas once you and Weiss are finished," Winter suddenly said, joining the conversation.

"Well," Esmond said, placing his hands on his lips. "Who am I to stop you from bonding with your cousin?"

Whitaker waited for Weiss to stand up, and when she did, he immediately stood up as well. Weiss cut him a look and stomped off towards her room. Winter merely shook her head at Whitaker's antics as he followed ten steps behind the temperamental Schnee.

After following Weiss throughout the manor, she stopped at the entrance to a balcony that overlooked the Schnee Manor courtyard. The teen followed Weiss outside to find her staring out at the courtyard, and at the view of Atlas as a whole. Despite the massive city being held aloft by a mixture of chains and gravity Dust, it still seemed to stretch on for miles and miles into the horizon.

Weiss rested her elbows atop the marble banisters of the balcony.

"Miss Schnee," Whitaker said, attempting to do his best impression of an Atlesian gentleman. "I hope this evening fares you well thus far?"

"Whitaker, I know it's you," Weiss said flatly. "Why did you follow me?"

Whitaker stepped up beside her, bringing his hands behind him. "I wanted to catch up with my cousin. That's it."

"Right."

Whitaker smiled. "That really is it, Weiss. How are you? How is Olympia Academy? How is your training coming along?"

"I'm doing well enough," Weiss answered flatly. "Olympia is fine, if a little trivial. And my training is proceeding as expected."

"How others expected or how you expected?" Whitaker asked.

"How others expect," Weiss clarified. "Were it up to me, I would've labeled myself a disappointment long ago. But it seems the world has not yet given up on me."

"You mean you haven't given up on yourself," Whitaker corrected.

"What?"

"If we're related in any way, Weiss, it's that we refuse to give up," Whitaker reasoned. "Winter is the same way. She suffered, bled, and nearly died to get where she is today. And I…" _Killed to get here._ He left that out, of course.

"You?"

_Leave it to Weiss Schnee to press that question._

"I also suffered to get here," Whitaker deflected. "The point I'm trying to make is that us Schnees are strong-willed, determined, driven." Whitaker's thoughts drifted to Jacques and Whitley. "In our own ways," he corrected.

"I know that," she said. "I wasn't suggesting that _I_ was going to give up any time soon."

"Oh. Then why did you phrase it like that?"

Weiss smirked. "I simply wanted to see your reaction. It's good to know that my dear older cousin cares so much about me."

Whitaker narrowed his eyes, attempting to threaten her, but the smile on his lips betrayed him. "Look at you, playing Schnee mind games."

Weiss wore a look of shock and surprise like it was her natural state of being. "How _dare_ you insinuate such things!"

Whitaker stared a moment longer at Weiss. And then the two erupted into a shared laughter. Even though he hadn't seen her in awhile, in some ways, she was still the same Weiss Schnee that he remembered, if a little pricklier and sarcastic. But he could work with that.

"Your father mentioned something about a test," Weiss said. "Care to elaborate?"

"I…" Whitaker hesitated. "I can't. It's classified, unfortunately."

"I figured." She sighed and looked back out to the courtyard. "It's a shame. I would have loved to join you."

Those words brought an idea to Whitaker's mind. "Say," he began. "You're going to Atlas Academy, right?"

"Yes, I am."

"And you've already been accepted as a student, correct?"

"Not officially, but I have submitted my transcripts from Olympia Academy. And I like to think that I have a good chance of passing the entrance exams."

Whitaker grinned. "Well, I think I _might_ have a way for you to join me."

**[;]**

"You want to bring my younger sister, who is not as trained, does not have the appropriate experience, nor the qualifications, on an extremely dangerous mission that is _meant_ for you to be taken alone?" Winter asked. Her face was perfectly neutral, as it often was, but Whitaker knew that her porcelain appearance was on the verge of cracking. "I hope that the next words that leave your mouth are a punchline, Whitaker."

"Uh…" Whitaker trailed off. "Just kidding?"

The Atlesian Specialist groaned. "Why am I not surprised that you're serious about this?"

"Because it's totally something I would do," he said. He grabbed the handle of his mug and sipped at the coffee that Winter had prepared for him when he stepped into her personal office. Or room. Considering she spent ninety-percent of her time here, Whitaker decided it was better to call it her room. "Besides, it's not against the conditions of the mission, right?"

Winter sighed. "Whitaker, you realize that bringing someone with you defeats the entire purpose of a test, correct?"

"When you put it that way, it makes it hard to argue with you." Whitaker set down the mug. "So we're not going to put it that way."

"Whitaker, be genuine for a moment." Winter drew her hands together and interlocked her fingers. "If Weiss comes, your test would be considered void because—"

"I read that Huntsman Academy teams _always_ take their end-of-the-year tests as a team, and never alone."

"You are a special case," Winter replied calmly. "As I'm sure you already know. I'm sorry, Whitaker, but Weiss will not be accompanying you on your mission."

"Winter," Whitaker groaned.

"Are you complaining?" She asked. "Are you _seriously_ whining? To me? Of all people?" Winter sounded like she was trying to maintain her composure.

Just as she was about to speak again, the door to her office slid open with a mechanical whirr. General Ironwood marched into the room, his eyes flicked between Whitaker and Winter, sparkling with curiosity.

Winter shot up and snapped to attention, her hand flying into a salute. "General Ironwood. I was not expecting you this evening."

Whitaker mimicked his cousin's movements, also saluting the General, though his was far more casual. Over the course of the week, General Ironwood had urged him to not fall into military protocol, as he wasn't a member of it.

Easier said than done, considering the man commanded the attention of entire rooms by simply walking into them.

"At ease, Specialist." Ironwood looked towards Whitaker. "I assume you are here asking Winter about something relating to your test, Whitaker?"

"Yes," Whitaker replied with a nod. "I was asking her if Weiss Schnee could accompany me on my mission. It wouldn't hurt having an extra pair of hands for help, and the experience would greatly benefit her."

Winter looked ready to kill the teen.

Ironwood hummed in thought.

"Sir, you cannot seriously be considering this," Winter urged.

"I am in favor of Weiss joining Whitaker," Ironwood said. "On one condition."

"Now we're talking." Whitaker grinned.

"Oh dear." Winter rubbed her forehead.

Ironwood smirked. "Whitaker. You must defeat Winter in a fight."

**[;]**

"So, wait," Weiss said. "You beat my sister?!"

Whitaker laughed, resting his head on his palm. "No. She wiped the floor with me." Even through his best efforts, he knew that defeating Winter Schnee was a slim chance. She was the youngest Atlesian Specialist for a reason. "I wish I did though."

Weiss groaned. "And here I thought you'd have a chance. Especially with your Semblance."

Whitaker shook his head. "As it turns out, Schnee summons disable it."

"Really?"

"She summoned four Beowolves and sicced them on me," Whitaker recalled. "When I tried to use my Semblance on them, my Aura took a hit. Then, she used her glyphs to slow me down. And the rest of the fight went downhill after that."

Weiss re-crossed her legs, resting her hands on her lap as she looked out from the large window in her room. Whitaker, sitting across the table from her, tilted his head slightly.

"I'm sorry you aren't able to come," Whitaker said.

"It is fine," Weiss replied. "It is probably for the best that I don't join you. It is a test after all. Winter was right about that."

Whitaker agreed with the sentiment. Not having Weiss accompany him was unfortunate, but his loss against Winter was more unfortunate. It still irked him that his Semblance refused to work on multiple targets. It was like Destiny was playing a cruel trick on him and he was waiting for the damn thing to pop out and say, "Just kidding! Here's your real Semblance."

A Semblance that had no practical use against Grimm. He laughed to himself, drawing the attention of Weiss.

"What are you laughing about?"

Whitaker waved a hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Just… found something ironic, I suppose."

"And that is?"

"It's nothing, Weiss," Whitaker said. He stood up and stretched. "You know, I haven't sparred you since I got here two weeks ago."

A small smirk danced across Weiss' lips. "Too true. I was sorely hoping to wipe the floor with you sometime soon."

Whitaker raised a brow. "Is that a challenge, dear cousin?"

"It might be," Weiss shot back.

"Meet you at the courtyard in fifteen minutes?"

"I shall be there before then."

**[;]**

Whitaker cautiously stepped into the office of General Ironwood. Despite him being the Headmaster of Atlas Academy, he still had an open-door policy to every student on campus; though Whitaker wasn't sure if anyone actually _approached_ the General freely. He was still surprised that the secretary even let him into the office in the first place. He wasn't exactly a registered student, but the backpack and the uniform was enough for her, Whitaker supposed.

The spacious office was mostly bare, save for the man's desk and chair in the back of the room. Constellations, depictions of Remnant's night sky, and numerous golden stars covered the entire floor of the office, contrasted by the dark blue metallic walls and pillars that arched into a dome that topped off the circular room. Behind his desk were large windows that overlooked the entirety of Atlas Academy and most of the city.

The general stood in front of the windows, his arms behind his back, silently observing the students.

"General," Whitaker called, standing in the center of the room.

Ironwood turned to face Whitaker and smiled. "Whitaker. It is good to see you."

"You as well." Whitaker approached the desk. "I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"Does Atlas Academy, or just Atlas, rather, have another library?"

"Is there a problem with the one here?"

Whitaker shook his head. "Not a problem necessarily. The amount of knowledge within the library here is impressive, but not specific enough for my needs. Do you know the details of my mission, sir?"

"I was the one who helped Winter and Esmond put the file together. So yes, I do."

"My research on ruins in Solitas has not gone as well as I have hoped," Whitaker began. "While the continent carries as many ruins as the others— Sanus and Anima, that is— there is nowhere near as much evidence for conflict or battles that have occured here." When Ironwood had nothing to say, Whitaker continued. "And that concerns me. Every civilization leaves something behind, whether its small trinkets, traditions, cultures, ideologies, technology, or in my case, ruins. But the amount of ruins in Solitas does not match the amount of conflict. Or the lack thereof."

Ironwood raised an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?"

Whitaker's eyes narrowed. "That someone has erased the history of Solitas."

"That is… not a small accusation, Whitaker."

"It isn't," he said. "I know that. But my year's time as a Huntsman's apprentice hinges on this knowledge, this hidden history." Whitaker set down his backpack and pulled out his notebook. "I've taken the liberty of notating every major conflict in Sanus and Anima before the Great War." He opened the notebook and turned it so it was facing Ironwood.

Ironwood sat down and read through the notes.

"There have been, across both Sanus and Anima, around thirty-five major conflicts," Whitaker explained. "The accounts of the first fifteen are spotty and poorly written, but the dates and the descriptions match up even across civilization. And the last twenty are dated and recorded as well as any modern account of war."

Ironwood nodded. "And for Solitas?"

"That's the problem," Whitaker said. "In Atlas Academy's library, there are only _two_."

Ironwood's eyes widened. "That's… that's impossible."

Whitaker nodded. "With how many artifacts there are in the Museum of History, a continent only enduring two major wars is simply impossible."

"It concerns me that you are the first person to have brought this up to me."

Whitaker shrugged. "Archaeology and history are often tied together, so I'm not sure what the archaeologists were thinking when they discovered those ruins."

Ironwood steepled his fingers. He stared down at the notes with an almost furious look. "Tell me about the two wars."

"The first one was known as the Igniter's Crusades," Whitaker began. "It occurred about seventy years before the Great War, give or take a few decades. It was mainly a war against the Grimm. A group of Solesian settlements, known as the Firestarters, pushed back against a recent incursion of Grimm. It's actually the first recorded moment in Remnant history that utilized guerrilla warfare."

"Was there a major figure during that war?"

Whitaker shook his head. "Not from what I read. Though I doubt what I've read is the truth."

"I'm inclined to agree with you," Ironwood growled. He let out a breath. "And this second war?"

"The Icecross War was a decade-long war that occured maybe thirty years before the Great War," Whitaker stated. "It was simply a war that quelled those who resisted the unification of Mantle. It was the last recorded war before the Great War. But there's so little information on it, that it makes me think Atlesians just couldn't write."

Ironwood drew in a deep breath. It seemed like he was about as frustrated as Whitaker was. If not more. "I will see what I can find about this hidden history, as you put it," Ironwood said. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Whitaker. If we cannot learn from our own history, then we are doomed to repeat it."

"Of course, sir," Whitaker said. "If you like, you can keep the notes. Or I can send it to you on Scroll. The latter would have probably been… easier." Whitaker sighed. "I'll send it to you once I find the time."

Ironwood chuckled. "That would be appreciated. Take care of yourself Whitaker. And I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I understand that your entire mission depends on me getting to the bottom of this."

"Thank you, sir."

"Until then, take some time to spar with Winter. You will learn much from her."

"I will, sir."

**[;]**

Winter released a shout as she stabbed her sword towards Whitaker, the teen just barely ducking out of the way as his Semblance activated. The edges of his irises brightened, his ice blue eyes began to glow as he glared daggers at Winter.

Taking both blades of Lightning, Whitaker combined the blades, flipped into a whirlwind as he attempted to slash vertically at Winter.

But she was too fast. Winter sidestepped the attack and hopped away from Whitaker. Twirling her sword, she impaled her sword into the ground as a bolt of yellow lightning Dust shot through its blade. She conjured gleaming, golden glyph that engulfed her in a brilliant light.

Whitaker recognized the glyph as the one she used during their first fight. _Time Dilation._

Winter shot towards him.

Whitaker thrust his hand forward, forcing his Semblance onto the Specialist.

For a split second, the world slowed around him, and Winter's blinding speed became visible.

But Winter clenched her jaw and pushed her own Semblance even further.

Time shattered.

Winter cocked back her leg and delivered a brutal roundhouse kick across Whitaker's chest that sent him tumbling across the training room. The Aura that surrounded him dissipated, and he let out a long groan.

"Again?" Winter asked.

Whitaker got up, rubbing the area where Winter's leg caught him. "Give me five."

And five minutes later, they were at it once again.

Whitaker was covered in sweat, his clothes stuck to his skin, and his long, pale hair was like a wet mop rested atop his head. On the opposite side of the training room, Winter Schnee was in a similar state. Her hair, normally kept in a tight and neat bun, was now drenched in moisture, and was beginning to come loose— her chest rose and fell in time with her heaving breaths as she stared at Whitaker with narrowed eyes.

"Your… Semblance is… just awful," she heaved.

"And so is… yours," Whitaker muttered.

"I haven't even used it this whole fight," Winter shot back.

"Doesn't matter. Still awful." Whitaker fell one knee, the blade of Lightning stabbing into the metallic floor as he used it to keep himself from falling completely to the ground.

Winter's knees buckled. "Giving up already, Whitaker?"

"Winter," Whitaker breathed. "You are literally going to fall over if you take one more step."

The Specialist chuckled and walked to the stands of the training room. She grabbed two bottles of water, tossing one to Whitaker. She pressed one hand to her chest, drawing in deep breaths before popping the cap on her water and taking a long drink of it.

Whitaker did the same. After several minutes of basking in the cool air of the training room and resting, Whitaker slowly rose to his feet.

"Ready to go again?" Winter asked.

"I think I'm done for today," Whitaker said. "You really worked me to the bone."

"I should hope so. I am a Specialist after all."

Whitaker nodded. He'd been thoroughly humbled by her. In the last year, he'd been facing individuals that were mostly below his skill level, though Ruby was close, and he was willing to bet that Coco was just as good if not better than him.

But fighting, sparring as it were, against Winter was a rewarding experience. Even with his Semblance, she still managed to pressure him. The Schnee Semblance had a strange interaction with his own.

Specifically, whenever Winter used her Time Dilation glyph when he activated Reflex. It was like she moved as fast as she normally did.

Whitaker made a mental note about that. Maybe he was thinking about his Semblance incorrectly.

"Whitaker, are you alright?" Winter asked.

"Just thinking about my Semblance," he said. "When you used your Time Dilation glyph at the same time I used my Semblance, did it feel weird?"

"It did," Winter said. "It almost felt like you were—"

"Slowing you down," Whitaker finished. He sighed. "I figured as much."

"I thought your Semblance enhanced your reflexes?"

"So did I," Whitaker said. "But it might not be so. I need to think about this." He finished the rest of his water and began to make his way towards the door out of the training room. "Thank you for your time, Winter. Same time in two days?"

She nodded. "I shall be here, Whitaker."

With one last smile, Whitaker slipped out of the room.

**[;]**

The door to Ironwood's office slid open as Whitaker stepped through its threshold. The moon was visible directly behind the headmaster's desk, illuminating the entirety of the office and its star-adorned floor.

Ironwood sat before his desk, numerous holographic screens pulled up, and his hands flicking between each one. When the door closed behind Whitaker, Ironwood looked up from his work.

"Ah, Whitaker," he said. "I apologize for asking you to see me at this late hour."

"It's nothing, sir," Whitaker replied. "I assume this is about what we discussed a few days ago?"

"It is." Ironwood pushed his chair back from the desk and stood up. He motioned to the central platform that dominated the middle of the office. "I believe that this will be of use to you."

A series of holographic screens appeared before Whitaker, momentarily surprising him. Whitaker moved a hand towards one screen and captured it. He brought it in front of himself and read through its contents. "This is…"

"Concerning? Dangerous? Damning?" Ironwood filled in. "Yes, all of the above."

"Why would Ozpin try and—"

" _That_ is a question we will keep to ourselves, Whitaker," Ironwood seethed. It couldn't have been pleasant realizing that a long-time ally and friend would keep information as important as this hidden. "Whoever this _Harros Vesta_ individual was, Ozpin wanted him erased from history."

"But if he unified Solitas, then he must have been a decent person, right?"

Ironwood shrugged. "According to these accounts, he was a great and powerful warrior, a charismatic leader, and a moral person."

"Then why would Ozpin want him erased from history if he did so much good?"

"Perhaps it was not what he did, but how he did it."

That… that made sense. This person, this 'Harros Vesta,' if the accounts are true, managed to defeat countless Grimm, unite Solitas under a single banner, and crush all of his opposition in forty short years. But there was more than that.

"He was a conqueror," Whitaker said, looking at another file.

"Yes." Ironwood moved to stand alongside Whitaker. "He was known as the Firebrand. And that name hardly draws up pleasant thoughts."

Whitaker was inclined to agree. "This is a lot of lost history, sir."

"Yes. Some would say it's too much."

"I think _anyone_ would say it's too much."

Ironwood clicked his tongue. "Nevertheless, I hope this is satisfactory?"

Whitaker opened a file that detailed the patterns of movement of the Firestarters and Harros Vesta. "Yes," he said. "This is more than enough. If you don't mind forwarding it all to my Scroll."

"I will see that it is done discreetly," Ironwood said with a nod. "You are dismissed, Whitaker. I have some things to… think about."

Whitaker knew what Ironwood meant by 'think,' and he wished he cared about Grimm enough to pray for their fates. "Of course, sir. Have a pleasant night."

With a final salute, Whitaker left the good General to himself. It was probably for the best. Anything within a thirty-mile radius would be within Ironwood's fury. And Whitaker was _not_ going to die today.

By the time he returned to his room, Ironwood had already sent him all of the files from earlier. Whitaker combed through them, specifically the one that chronicled the movements of the Firestarters and Harros Vesta. From what he could tell when he looked through it in Ironwood's office, the Firestarters moved all across the northern half of Solitas during Igniter's Crusades. It made sense considering that the glaciers far to the north of Atlas and Mantle were often home to a variety of dangerous Grimm, far too dangerous for people to settle within. But back then, you had to make do with what you had. Dust was scarcely used the same way it was now.

According to the files, after the Igniter's Crusades, Harros Vesta took the Firestarters south, where normal settlements thrived. He wanted to unite the settlements under a single banner to truly fight against the Grimm. After all, there wasn't much an individual person and his lone tribe could accomplish on their own.

_So the Igniter's Crusades lasted much longer than I originally thought_ , Whitaker reasoned.

The accounts of individuals that saw Harros Vesta and his Firestarters march through towns in southern Solitas were well-documented, it was easy to come to the conclusion that they were true. What confused Whitaker, however, was why the ruins were in northern Solitas if Harros spent the last half of his life in the south. If it was his tomb, and Whitaker was fairly certain that it was, why would he want to be buried away from his people, his home?

It made no sense.

Whitaker powered off his Scroll and sighed. He laid his head down on his pillow staring up at the ceiling.

And, moments before he fell asleep, thunder boomed.

**[;]**

Whitaker spotted Weiss struggling to carry a box full of books from the Schnee Manor library to her room while he was walking back from Winter's room. He jogged over and motioned for her to give him the box.

"Any reason why you're reading so much?" Whitaker asked.

"Because I'm _bored_ at home," Weiss said. "My summer has just begun, and I have nothing to do here besides read, sometimes spar, or practice my glyphs."

"Not doing any scouting for your initiations?"

Weiss shook her head. "I don't think I'll need to. Besides, it would take some of the fun away."

Whitaker raised a brow. "Weiss Schnee? Having fun?"

Weiss punched him in the arm. "For your information, I do know how to have fun."

Whitaker smiled. "I believe you. You seem to love singing, after all."

Weiss nodded. "And while we're on the topic of initiations, the SDC just approved to have two units observation drones transferred to Atlas Academy," Weiss said proudly. "I happened to have been the one to initiate the negotiations." She placed a hand on her chest and smiled widely.

Whitaker nearly dropped the box. He looked at Weiss. "Wait. What did you just say?"

"That I initiated the negotiations between—"

"No, no," Whitaker interrupted. "Before that."

Weiss clicked her tongue and crossed her arms. "A unit SDC observation drones were transferred to Atlas Academy."

Whitaker grinned. He adjusted the books and began to walk a little faster toward the heiress' room.

"...What?" Weiss asked. She trailed after Whitaker, but because of the height difference, she had to enter a slight jog to keep up with his walking pace. "What are you walking so fast for?!"

"I have drones to requisition."

"What." Weiss stared at him, her expression completely deadpan. Before she knew it, they stood at the door to her room.

"I'll see you later, Weiss," Whitaker placed the books at the foot of the door. He ran back down the hallway towards Winter's room once again. "Thanks for the information!" He called back.

Standing before Winter's room, Whitaker knocked three times on it.

"Who is it?"

"It's Whitaker."

After a minute, the door pulled open. Winter Schnee wore a loose-fitting, somewhat sheer dress that looked more like sleepwear than loungewear. Her face was flushed with red and Whitaker could see sweat beading on her collarbone.

"What is it?" She asked.

"Weiss just informed me that Atlas Academy received observation drones for the entrance exam, is that right?"

Winter nodded.

"I need to use five of them for my mission."

Winter sighed. "I figured. What for?"

"Retracing some old steps," Whitaker replied. "I'm close to finding the ruins. I'm sure that Ironwood has informed you of my findings?"

"He has, yes," Winter replied. "Very well."

"Am I right to assume these drones have a long surveillance range and will be durable enough to withstand an Atlesian blizzard?"

"I… don't think you know what that even means," Winter said.

"Which part?"

"The Atlesian— you know what, nevermind." Winter coughed into her hand as red tinged her cheeks. "They have a range of about one-thousand miles, and they are strong enough to withstand a swarm of Nevermore."

"I'm surprised Ironwood didn't suggest attaching a Dust machine gun to it."

"Believe me. He did," Winter muttered. "They're just observation drones, however. No firepower to speak of." She cleared her throat. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to work."

Whitaker raised a brow. "Work? Is that what we're calling it now?"

"I'm not sure what you're insinuating, Whitaker, but it is highly—"

"Your Scroll was on display mode," Whitaker said, pointing to behind her. "A pretty hardcore video is projecting onto your ceiling right now and —"

"What?!" Winter twisted her neck around so fast Whitaker thought she broke it. When she realized that there was no video playing, she slowly turned back to Whitaker. Her face was as red as a cherry, and she looked like she was about to burst. "Get out."

"Wait," Whitaker realized. "Were you actually mastur—"

" _Get. OUT!"_ Winter shoved him a good five feed and slammed the door in his face.

Whitaker nearly threw up at _that_ mental image.

He held it in. He was already dead. He didn't want some throw up in front of Winter's room to result in his future childrens' deaths either.

_Gods have mercy on the man that marries her._

Whitaker shivered.

**[;]**

"This is brilliant," Ironwood commented, his eyes rapidly flicking through the mission protocol that Whitaker had drafted. "The use of observation drones as surveillance and reconnaissance shows foresight, creativity, and excellent planning, Whitaker. This is _genius_!"

"I…" Whitaker trailed off. Hearing such wondrous praise from the Headmaster of Atlas Academy and General of the Atlesian Military did little to humble Whitaker. "Thank you, sir. But my test has yet to officially begin."

Ironwood waved him off. "Your test began the moment you boarded the Bullhead to Atlas. Winter knows this. As does your father."

The Specialist standing beside Whitaker nodded. "He has shown dedication, commitment, and the ability to remain steadfast even in the face of great challenge, not to mention his remarkable skill on the battlefield." She looked to Esmond. "You should be proud, Esmond."

The praise felt great. It felt _earned_. But he wasn't finished yet. "Thank you, Winter."

"I am merely stating facts," Winter replied.

"Nevertheless," Ironwood interjected. "I believe this mission protocol to be suitable. Would you mind showing us the data you gathered from the drones?"

"Right," Whitaker cleared his throat and waved a hand to the holographic screens in the center of Ironwood's office. A series of windows appeared, the first being a map of northern Atlas overlaid with a flight path for the five drones that Whitaker requisitioned. "I had the drones fly in a path nearly identical to the described movements of the Firestarters and Harros Vesta. They flew in a V-formation, each one approximately seven-hundred to eight-hundred feet in the air, while also being five miles apart. The flights themselves took place over the course of three days, and on the third day, Drone 311-B spotted ruins that looked almost exactly like the ones described in the initial mission dossier."

Whitaker waved his hand once again, and a video of Drone 311-B's perspective played in front of both Winter, Ironwood and Esmond. About thirty seconds into the video, Whitaker paused it on a frame where the ruins were clearly visible. "This is the ruin that Drone 311-B saw. Is it the correct one?"

The three individuals looked at one another.

"Yes," Esmond spoke up. "It is. Well done."

Whitaker nodded his thanks. "Seeing as it was the only ruin on this part of the flight path, I sent the drone down to investigate it further. However, about fifty feet from the ground, it was taken down and mostly destroyed by a Grimm."

"Did you get a visual on what type of Grimm?" Winter asked.

Whitaker nodded. "Thanks to the drone's three-hundred-sixty degree camera." He skipped ahead on the video's timeline to seconds before the drone was attacked. Behind the drone, a long, multi-legged Grimm unburrowed from the icy ground and attached itself to the drone. Then, the video feed was cut.

"A Centinel," Winter and Ironwood said in unison.

"Yes," Whitaker said. "Fortunately, all SDC observation drones are equipped with a tracking beacon, and even after the attack, Drone 311-B's tracking beacon wasn't destroyed."

"And you plan to use this tracking beacon as the landing point for the beginning of your mission?" Esmond asked.

"Do I have any other option?" Whitaker asked. "Dropping a Bullhead on top of the glacier that the ruin is right on top is probably a bad idea. That and we have no idea how hot the LZ will be, knowing Centinel Grimm's movement patterns, there's bound to be at least fifty of them nesting near that area."

"Not a bad estimation," Winter conceded. "It'll be dangerous. What about a jump?"

"That's what I was thinking," Whitaker said. "I know how to operate a parachute alone. Dad made sure I was trained in case one of our missions earlier this year called for it."

"It's decided." Ironwood cleared his throat. "Whitaker, Winter has mentioned to me that you are… requisitioning me to act as your pilot for this mission?"

"That's correct."

"Then I will be flying you in a Schnee-specialised Bullhead from Atlas Academy to the tracking beacon of Drone 311-B." Ironwood swiped the holographic screen. "Since we are discussing your mission protocol, we may as well run through the rest of your requisition list." He looked to Winter.

The Specialist nodded. "Standard rations for three days, standard backpack equipped with flares, a flare gun, glowsticks , forty-five feet of coiled rope, a pack of matches, three days worth of water, gauze, bandages, and standard over-the-counter painkillers, as well as a single dosage of morphine."

"All approved," Ironwood said. "Though the morphine might be a bit much."

Whitaker shrugged. "Prepare for the worst."

"Armaments?" Ironwood asked.

"A satchel of lightning and fire Dust grenades, a variable Dust-empowered M201 pistol, a bandolier equipped with three spare magazines, and Lightning, his weapon."

"Awfully light," Esmond commented.

"It's a _Search_ mission, not a _Destroy_ ," Whitaker reasoned. "I need to locate the ruins, not destroy them."

"Fair enough."

"Approved once again," Ironwood repeated. "You have a good set of gear. I think this will all be fine." He looked at the other two. "Any disagreements?"

"None here, sir."

"I think he'll be okay."

"Very well." Ironwood snapped to attention and saluted Whitaker. "Well done, Whitaker. Even though you still have at least a few days to prepare, do you wish to depart for your mission tomorrow?"

"Yes," Whitaker replied immediately. He was ready. He was _more_ than ready.

"We leave at 0600."

Whitaker Ash grinned.

It was finally time to get this test started.

* * *

**Hopefully everyone enjoyed this chapter. I apologize for ending it on a cliffhanger.**

**Please leave a comment with your thoughts. And for those who read my other story, The Producer, an update will be released later this week.**


	6. CHAPTER FOUR - ATLAS II

“Blizzard warning. Blizzard warning. Class Two blizzard approaching Atlas from northern Solitas. Estimated time of impact: five hours. Please remain indoors. Repeat: Please remain indoors.”

As the announcement rang clearly throughout all of Atlas, Whitaker fought back a groan of sheer frustration. Of  _ course  _ something would go wrong the moment he chose to begin his mission. He would push on, regardless of the state of the weather.

“Whitaker,” Ironwood called out from his position inside of the cargo bay of the Bullhead. “Do you wish to carry on with the mission?”

“Do I really have any other option?” Whitaker countered. Sure, he could wait until the blizzard died out, but he was ready. Rain or shine, blizzard or no blizzard, Whitaker knew he was up to the task. He tightened the straps on his backpack and walked up the ramp.

“You do,” Ironwood said. “And it is one that I suggest you take.”

“Not happening, sir,” Whitaker replied sharply. “I’m ready for this.”

“Whitaker.”

The young Huntsman turned to look at his father. Esmond had a strange look in his eyes, something that Whitaker couldn’t place because he had never seen it before. Something shone within his father’s brown orbs, and Whitaker shoulders lifted. 

Esmond raised his hand and closed it into a fist. “Good luck, Whitaker. Make me proud.”

Whitaker stood a little taller.

He’d heard the words before, and he liked to believe that he  _ did _ make Esmond proud. Today, however, was different. Different in a way that Whitaker couldn’t quite explain. But those words warmed his heart and eased his worries but the pressure to do well still remained.

Winter stood alongside Esmond. The Specialist gave a small nod towards Whitaker, and an even smaller smile crept across her lips. He would make Winter proud as well, just as he would make Esmond proud, Aurelia proud, Ruby, Yang, Taiyang, Qrow. Everyone he learned from, everyone he sparred with, everyone he spent time with during the last year.

He would make them all proud.

####  **[;]**

At least, he believed he would.

The blizzard, however, had different ideas. Frigid, icy winds whipped all around Whitaker, flecks of ice, snow, and moisture seeped through his clothes and permeated every inch of his body. He’d faced cold before. He’d experienced just how cold Atlas could get.

But this?

This was a cold that no one should ever experience.

When Whitaker leapt out of the Bullhead, he was worried that his entire face would be frozen before he could even touch ground. Seeing anything beyond ten to fifteen feet was impossible, so he counted to four seconds before releasing the latch on his parachute.

As it turned out, Atlas made their parachutes differently from Vale’s or Mistrals. Even in the middle of a Class 2 blizzard, it held together sturdily, while still allowing him to control the path of his descent.

Once his boots crunched onto the snow, he crouched down and detached the parachute pack from his back. Whitaker retrieved his Scoll, staring down at the screen.

Before beginning the mission, Winter synced the location of Drone 311-B’s tracking beacon to the Scroll. It worked similar to a compass.

From Whitaker’s current position, Drone 311-B was about 15 klicks north-by-north-east. Including the trouble the blizzard gave him, it would take somewhere between five and eight hours. Maybe longer.

Whitaker tucked the Scroll back into its pouch on his backpack.

“No time like the present,” Whitaker murmured. He tightened the thick scarf and face-covering that was wrapped around his face. He steeled his nerves, despite how  _ afraid _ he felt. 

He had a duty to uphold.

And himself to not disappoint.

####  **[;]**

It was a strange thing.

Being afraid, that is.

He’d felt it before, of course. That, however, was nothing compared to this. Whitaker could hardly see his hands, much less his own feet. It felt like every step carried the weight of the world beneath it. His boots sunk deep into the snow. So deep that in the effort of wrenching it free, Whitaker worried that it would just separate from his body because of how  _ frozen _ it was.

His fingers were growing numb through his gloves.

“Gods, this is such a pain.”

It was inconvenient, and inconveniences were the worst. Simply, the absolute worst.

He couldn’t even get his Scroll out to check if he was still going the right way because the damn thing was frozen over. When Whitaker last checked over two hours ago, he was still going the right way. 

After another eternity of walking, Whitaker spotted an outcropping of ice atop the snow. A cave? It was certainly possible, the glaciers in Solitas were massive. Some stretched across thousands upon thousands of miles. Nevertheless, he needed to find some sort of shelter from the blizzard, and while a glacier-cave was not much better, Whitaker needed visibility and the ability to use his Scroll.

He checked his wristwatch.

_ 68:39 _

A little under four hours had passed since his mission began. He had time to wait out the blizzard.

Whitaker slid his sleeve over the watch, his hands grasping at the straps to his backpack a little tighter. Due to the ferocity of the blizzard, bits of moisture managed to get inside of the pack, increasing its weight. He’d taken time to move some of the things inside of the pack to his person instead.

Whitaker had a bandolier drawn across his chest with three fire Dust and three lightning Dust grenades, as well as three additional magazines for the M201 pistol that was strapped to his thigh. A pair of glow sticks, about forty-five feet of double-braided nylon rope, and a military-grade flashlight were secured to his belt.

A lack of food, sure. But he needed to keep light and be able to move quickly. He figured that his best chance was to find the ruin as fast as possible— but as it looked, the blizzard would continue for much longer.

Whitaker made his way to the outcropping. As he closed in on it, it partially blocked the incoming winds of the blizzard from ahead of him. It jutted out maybe ten, fifteen feet from the ground, and as he rounded to its front side, the mouth of the cave was little more than a crack between the ice, no more than a foot across. 

It would be a tight squeeze, even without the backpack. But that was a chance Whitaker couldn’t take. With numb fingers, he removed the backpack and held it in front of him. Letting out a small breath that was quickly sucked into the swirling blizzard, he worked his way into the cave.

Holding the backpack in front of him, Whitaker stepped parallel to the cave mouth. The moment he fully stepped into the cave, the frigid, bone-chilling winds of the blizzard dissipated, and were replaced by a much more normal, all-encompassing coolness. This was closer to the temperature of Atlas at its highest points. Or on a cold night.

He set down his pack near the entrance of the cave and retrieved his flashlight.

Unfortunately, humans did not have the ability to see in the dark.

Flicking the flashlight on, Whitaker cautiously stepped deeper into the cave. He wondered just how deep it went, how large it was in comparison to the caves he’d read about.

The flashlight refracted against the deep blue walls like glass. It threw colors all around Whitaker, illuminating the cave. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope. Disorienting, yet beautiful, Whitaker decided.

He admired it for a few more seconds before turning his attention back to the task at hand: waiting out the blizzard.

But exploring the cave would make time pass a little faster.

Whitaker continued further into the cave, keeping his flashlight trained straight ahead of him. The cave, much to his surprise, had been mostly bare so far. No sign of any Grimm, no ancient scrawlings across the walls, no evidence of anyone ever venturing within it.

However, as he continued, Whitaker realized just how wrong that initial impression was. About an hour into his exploring, he began to notice small holes in the walls. The holes were no larger than his finger, too small for any Grimm to fit through. But there were hundreds of them stretched across every inch of the walls and the ceiling.

He approached one, shining his flashlight into it.

The hole was hollow, and about three or five inches deep. Whitaker continued the process, examining every hole, trying to piece together what it was. He discovered that each hole was around the same size, with very minute differences between one another.

He sighed. He needed more information.

So, he delved deeper into the cave.

####  **[;]**

Fear gripped Whitaker. True fear. It froze his heart, chilled his muscles, numbed his mind and his bones. He could hear nothing but the slow and steady thrum of his heartbeat. 

But what he saw… 

What he saw was a hellish vision.

A Centinel nest stood before him. A vast expanse of darkness that covered the entire wall on the opposite side of the cavern. Inky black webs and slime grasped at the walls like onyx claws. Hundreds, thousands of holes and pockets were poked into the webs and slime like unfinished stitches on skin.

Vermillion egg sacs glowed within the pockets and holes. They were slightly opaque, but transparent enough that Whitaker could see Centinels writhing, twisting, and squirming within the eggs.

Cautiously, Whitaker stepped towards the nest. 

His fingers wrapped around a fire Dust grenade.

It had to be destroyed.

It wasn’t part of his mission, but that didn’t matter.

This posed a danger to Atlas. To Remnant. To people he swore to protect. And that took precedence over  _ any  _ mission.

Whitaker pulled the pin on the grenade, taking extreme  _ satisfaction _ in hearing it clatter to the ground, sending an echoing  _ tink, tink, tink  _ throughout the cavern.

And Whitaker threw it into the nest.

A swirling vortex of fire shattered the grenade. Shrapnel flew like tiny daggers all across the room, sinking into the egg sacs and obliterating any Centinel larvae within. The fire attached itself to the inky slime and webs, burning it away into nothing but dust.

The nest was destroyed.

But the sound of a thousand skittering legs filed the room.

Whitaker unsheathed Lightning, small bolts of electricity flashed across its blade. With his other hand, he pulled the M201 free from its holster, his finger already on the trigger.

A wicked grin danced across Whitaker’s lips as Centinels erupted from the ground. Five, ten, fifteen. Twenty, maybe more. It was more than he could handle, and he knew it.

But he couldn’t resist.

He could hardly even remember the last time he fought Grimm. 

And the thought made his blood sing. Adrenaline replaced his fear. Warmth flooded his entire body, expunging any chill within him.

With a harrowing cry, Whitaker lunged at the nearest Centinel. Lightning struck true, piercing straight through its underside. Tearing his sword free, the Grimm fell to the ground with a bony clatter before evaporating into black dust. Only its white and red mask remained.

Whitaker, his heart hammering in his chest and his blood pumping in his ears, pointed the tip of Lightning towards the rest.

And a wave of twitching and jittering Centinels charged towards him.

Whitaker moved like a tempest. He bent, twisted, and angled his body, manipulating his Semblance to slip through the Centinels’ attacks like a leaf caught in a hurricane of razor-sharp claws and fanged jaws. Electricity sparked across Lightning, and the crack and flash of the M201 echoed like rumbling thunder within the cave.

Whitaker took it one Centinel at a time. He moved with purpose, drawing out a single Centinel, targeting them with his Semblance, and quickly killing it. 

But the swarm seemed almost endless. For every Centinel he killed, two more took its place. His moment of frustration was shattered by fangs of a stray Centinel sinking into his right thigh, piercing his paper-thin aura.

Whitaker growled. Slicing the head off of the Centinel, he leapt back, his hand clutching his thigh as blood began to leak out from the wounds.

The pain hadn’t hit him yet. And he silently thanked the adrenaline that pumped through his system. He sheathed Lightning, swapped the M201 to his main hand, and grabbed another fire Dust grenade from his bandolier. 

_ Only one left after this. I can’t let it go to waste here. _

Popping the pin, Whitaker tossed it into the swarm. It exploded with an ear-shattering boom, destroying half of the Centinels, and even incinerating their bone masks. Whitaker dropped the clip from his M201 and quickly slid in another before swapping it to his left hand.

With a metallic hiss, Whitaker pulled Lightning free of its sheath once again.

The remaining Centinels hardly gave him any room to breathe. They attacked fervently, snapping and slashing at Whitaker as he danced around them, pushing his Semblance to its very limits. He utilized Reflex on pure instinct— what he thought he couldn’t dodge naturally, he snapped Reflex into action.

And even with his Semblance, fighting the remaining Centinels proved more difficult than fighting the rest. They seemed more ferocious, fiercer,  _ angrier _ .

Whitaker cut down a Centinel just as another lashed out with its claws and slashed the rope he carried into shreds. The remnants landed on the frozen floor with a near-silent thump. He growled and fired two shots into the vile creature’s open maw, taking pleasure in the sickly green blood that spurted from it.

The wound on his leg… A dull pain  _ thrummed _ throughout his body. 

Whitaker grit his teeth.

His hands clenched around the hilt of Lightning and the grip of his M201.

He had Grimm to kill.

Every breath Whitaker drew felt like his last. 

The final Centinel rushed towards Whitaker with biting fangs and slashing claws. The intricate red markings atop its mask darkened, and struck with a cracking speed.

As the boy moved to dodge, the pain in his leg spiked throughout his entire body, stunning him. In a panic, Whitaker raised Lightning up to block against the Centinel. But the Grimm easily overpowered him.

It sank its fangs deep into Whitaker’s right shoulder, sending him to the ground.

He let out a gut-wrenching cry. His voice cracked and strained. Whitaker could  _ feel _ his heartbeat slow. He screamed as he tore the Centinel’s fangs from his shoulder and buried Lightning’s blade hilt-deep inside of it.

Thick green liquid seeped from the Grimm’s fangs as Whitaker held its skull in his hands.

“Fuck me…” He breathed.

Struggling off of his back, Whitaker couldn’t feel the Centinel’s poison just yet. He stabbed Lightning into the ice and cut out a small circle. Then, he took the pommel of his sword and repeatedly crushed the small circle until it was further broken into smaller pieces. With shaking hands, he picked up the pieces of glacier ice and placed them over his leg wound. The cold sensation numbed the pain away, if only for a moment.

He rose to his feet, using Lightning as a cane, and holding the ice over his knee until it was completely melted.

Whitaker Ash limped back towards the entrance of the cave, leaving behind only the white masks and black dust of the Grimm.

####  **[;]**

“You have got to be fucking—” Whitaker let out a long, deep breath, absorbing as much of the cold air as he possibly could.  _ Anger, meet cold. Cold, meet the source of all my stress. _ Whitaker kneeled down before the remnants of his backpack.

It was in utter ruins. Torn asunder. The threads were ripped to shreds, leaving all of his supplies exposed to the elements, and the attacker. Everything of use had been destroyed. His Scroll was shattered, his rations were crushed, and judging from the sickly green that covered its surface, poisoned as well, his flares and flare gun were cut in two, and his medical supplies… 

Whitaker checked the remains of his backpack for what he could still use. There was still a decent amount of usable gauze left. He still had his syringe of morphine, surprisingly. Taking in a deep breath, Whitaker injected the painkiller into himself. The ice-cold liquid seeped into his skin and tickled his body from the inside. The prickling soreness in his leg still pulsed through him, but it would soon go away.

He removed the syringe once all of the liquid had been injected and closed it over with some of the remaining gauze. Then, he began to piece together strips of cold cloth and gauze. As carefully as he could manage, Whitaker enclosed his shoulder wound and his leg wound, wrapping them in the gauze.

With a sigh, he leaned his back against the wall of the cave.

His body ached.

Even something as simple as  _ thinking _ hurt.

“Just… an hour,” Whitaker promised to the air.

And he succumbed to darkness.

For what felt like mere seconds later, Whitaker’s eyes snapped open. The cold that surrounded him chilled him to his core; every muscle, every bone, every inch of his body felt numb. Fortunately, it seemed that the morphine he’d injected worked. The pain he had in his leg and his shoulder were gone. Mostly.

Whitaker took an inventory of the supplies he had left.

A single fire Dust grenade, all three lightning Dust grenades, one last magazine for his M201, his flashlight, a pair of glow sticks, and enough gauze to patch up one last wound.

He checked his wristwatch.

_ 53:24 _

A little over two days left on the mission. He’d fallen asleep for fifteen hours. And he was still exhausted.

Whitaker chalked it up to not having consumed a single calorie while in a blizzard. He struggled to his feet. As he attempted to walk, his right leg buckled beneath his weight; Whitaker quickly adjusted the amount of weight he placed on the leg, and limped towards the exit.

_ I’m on a solo mission. My supplies are gone. I’m heavily injured. And I have a limp. _

A laugh escaped Whitaker’s lips despite the situation. Or perhaps because of it.

As he squeezed between the foot-wide gap in the wall to exit the cave, Whitaker noticed that the blizzard had lightened up immensely. He could see about fifty feet in front of him now, and while it was still decently windy, it was nothing compared to what it was like when he first landed. Now, he needed to find the ruins.

From what Whitaker vaguely remembered, it was somewhere further north. And the cave’s mouth was pointing north because it was on the opposite side of where he came from… 

“I’m so  _ fucking  _ dead.”

Thinking he could handle a mission like this, believing that he was ready, living under the impression that an Atlesian blizzard was something to scoff at. 

He’d let his talent go to his head. 

He should have been more prepared. He should have chosen to delay the mission until the blizzard cleared. But no, he  _ had  _ to begin as soon as possible, he  _ had _ to jump the gun, he  _ had _ to do something he wasn’t ready for.

It was foolish.  _ He _ was foolish.

“I’ve got no one to blame but myself,” he muttered, trudging through the snow.

Nevertheless, he steeled himself.

Live or die, he would see this mission through.

Whitaker Ash understood that much.

####  **[;]**

For what felt like an eternity, Whitaker limped in the general direction of where the Scroll pointed him. He believed that he wasn’t too far off the mark. In the hours that passed during his walk, the blizzard passed him over.

His shoulder injury had healed a decent amount. No doubt because of his Aura. But his leg was still mostly useless. It ached whenever Whitaker put any weight on it, and if he attempted to walk with it, the pain transformed into pins and needles that pricked and spiked throughout his entire body.

He could finally see the brilliant golden light of the sun, the perfectly clear blue sky. Whitaker could hardly believe how much he’d missed the simple things in life. The sun. The sky. 

Whitaker continued. And eventually, he found himself at the edge of an icy, snow-ridden cliff that overlooked a glacier valley. 

Perhaps, at another time, it would have been beautiful. It looked like the closest thing to heaven that Whitaker had seen. The pillowy white snow stretched out far into the horizon. The rays of sunlight dripped like liquid gold onto the valley, following the falling lines of the glaciers that descended like an arctic stairwell.

Scratch that. It was beautiful. Even now, it looked oddly familiar.

Realization dawned on Whitaker as he stared at the scenery. 

“Wait…” Whitaker thought back to the mission. The drones. The flight path of Drone 311-B. It flew over a glacier valley. And judging from the size and the general shape of the valley, it was the same one that the Drone 311-B spotted the ruins in.

He beamed. Now, all he needed to do was actually find the ruins. Which would be the easiest thing he’d done since the mission started.

Whitaker crouched and positioned himself as close to the edge of the cliff as he could. Cautiously, he glanced down the edge.

Seventy feet, maybe sixty. Either way, it was a fall that Whitaker wouldn’t be surviving any time soon. He let out a deep breath. Turning his attention back to the valley, Whitaker began to scan it. Anything that stuck out of the snow, Whitaker took note of. 

Not that there were any.

The thick layer of snow that the blizzard laid down likely made seeing the ruin impossible. It was supposed to be sitting atop a field of ice, most of it buried inside of a glacier. And if that field of ice had been replaced with snow, it would take more than three days to find it, even if Whitaker waited for the snow to melt. Excavating it was out of the question— that would take weeks. Either way, it would take time that Whitaker  _ didn’t _ have.

He was fucked. Well and truly fucked.

If there were something—

His thoughts were interrupted by a low rumble that seemed to echo throughout the entire valley. 

He shot to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg, and moved as far away from the edge as he could manage. Whitaker looked to the other vantage points of the valley. An earthquake? An avalanche of some kind?

The rumbling slowly transformed into something more consistent. Lower. Lighter. It had a rhythm. It sounded like a drum, almost. Like…

Whitaker whirled on his heel.

Like the thumping paws of a pack of Beowolves.

Ten, by Whitaker’s count. They danced around him, paws padding the snow as they encircled their prey. Their eyes shone behind their masks, and their pale fangs were exposed, gleaming and angry.

One of the Beowolves, however, sat on its hind legs ten feet from the rest of the pack. It was large. A few feet taller than its brethren, and its mask was far more intricate— covered in claw marks, and multiple blood-red lines. Bones protruded from either side of its ribcage as it stared straight at Whitaker, completely still, utterly unmoving.

An Alpha Beowolf.

Because of  _ course  _ it had to be.

Whitaker’s hand closed around the handle of Lightning. He unsheathed the blade, letting the metal sing into the air. Then, he split it in two, bolts of electricity crackling between the two halves of the broadsword. He brought both blades before him. The throbbing of his leg lingered in the back of his mind.

Whitaker momentarily closed his eyes. He let his Aura envelop his entire body, suffusing himself in its warmth. 

The pain vanished. 

He’d covered his leg in Aura to ensure that he had full maneuverability. Right now, he needed that more than even his Semblance.

Whitaker opened his eyes. And waited.

Growing impatient, one Beowolf to his left lunged forward and attempted to bite into him. Whitaker swung his right leg into the side of the Grimm’s head, stunning it, and then stabbing both blades of Lightning straight through its mask. The Beowolf fell onto the snow before dissolving into dust.

_ One down, nine to go. _

**[;]**

Whitaker raised Lightning, crossing the blades to block the incoming blow of the Beowolf. The claws clanged against the blade, bones grinding against the steel. He shoved the Beowolf back and brought both blades of Lightning in a slash that removed the wolf’s head clean off of its body.

His breathing haggard, his blood pounding in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and his Aura slowly leaking from his body. Whitaker looked to the final Grimm. The Alpha Beowolf.

It stepped towards Whitaker, its massive paws imprinting into the snow that crunched loudly beneath its weight.

Whitaker snapped Lightning together, the blades of the weapon melding together and then extending to its full length. 

They stood opposite one another.

They waited.

A gentle snowfall began.

An eternity passed in a minute.

Whitaker’s Aura buckled, the throbbing in his leg spiked through him.

The Grimm knew.

And like an inky shadow, the Alpha Beowolf wended before Whitaker, the gleaming red eyes behind its white mask sparked with crimson lightning.

Whitaker attempted to raise Lightning to block, but he was too slow.

It bared its fangs and outstretched its claws, and with two clean swipes, sent him flying off of the cliff, shattering his fragile Aura like glass.

Whitaker felt his conscious momentarily drift away, but he gripped its thread and pulled it taut, forcing himself awake. He stared at the rapidly approaching ground, the winds of the blizzard buffeting his clothes, chilling his skin, and sending flecks of ice and snow into his eyes. He was going to die. He was going to die. He was going to—

With the echoing  _ tick, tock, tick, tock _ of a clock, Whitaker Ash’s Semblance activated. His Aura pulsed through his body in time with the beating of his heart.

The world slowed to a crawl.

Small eternities passed in seconds.

The blizzard was nothing more than a stiff breeze against his skin. The snow beneath him came slowly, predictably.

Whitaker glanced above him, worried that the Beowolf was still giving chase.

The onyx, inky hide of the Alpha Beowolf dove towards him, the same gleaming eyes shone through the white mask. It relentlessly chased after its prey, with its mouth curled into the nastiest, darkest snarl that Whitaker had ever seen. 

It brought its front paws before itself, and charged towards Whitaker. 

Waiting until the very last moment, Whitaker twisted his body

The air whistled as two swipes just barely grazed him.

The Alpha Beowolf impacted the snowy ground with a dull thud.

It cracked beneath its weight. The snow opened like the maws of a great beast, revealing a bottomless abyss of darkness.

And it swallowed Whitaker whole.


	7. CHAPTER FIVE - ATLAS III

“—taker? Whitaker?” An impossibly soft and timid voice called. “Wake up, Whitaker.”

Whitaker’s eyes peeled open.

Cobalt blue met sterling silver.

Ruby sat before him on a field of white flowers, her legs crossed and her black and red hair swaying softly in the wind. Upon her face rested a small smile. She reached out with a hand and cupped the side of Whitaker’s face.

“R-Ruby?” Whitaker murmured. She looked… so real. “Where… where are we? Why are you here?”

She pouted. “I thought you would’ve been happy to see me.”

“Well, I suppose I am,” Whitaker replied. He took Ruby’s hand and removed it from his face. Slowly, cautiously, Whitaker sat up, his hand still on the wounds the Alpha Beowolf left on him. But there was nothing there; no blood, no glasses, simply the thick padding of his white winter coat.

Only white flowers and a white sky dotted with grey clouds surrounded them. No breeze. No smells. And no other sounds besides the breathing of both Ruby and Whitaker.

“Where are we?” Whitaker repeated.

Ruby shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

“Am I dead?”

Ruby shrugged.  _ Again _ .

“Why are you here?”

She shrugged.

“Ruby,” Whitaker said exasperatedly.

Her silver-eyes widened as she raised her hands up in surrender. “I really don’t know anything. Last I remember, I was dreaming, and then I was… torn from my dream and dropped here. Right in front of you.” She bit her lip. “What about you?”

“I was in the middle of my test,” Whitaker murmured. “And I…” The words died on his lips. His throat dried up.

“You?”

“I failed. Whitaker grasped at the flowers, his fingernails digging into the dirt. “I  _ failed _ , Ruby,” he choked out. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes. “I failed miserably. I was so  _ stupid _ . I chose to start the mission even though there was a blizzard. I thought I was so ready, so prepared. I got cocky. I hadn’t even fully prepared for a blizzard, but I still went. Gods, I was such a fool. I was an idiot. An arrogant idiot. The worst kind of idiot…”

Whitaker went on.

And on.

And on.

And Ruby listened.

“... And now,” Whitaker’s voice caught in his throat. “Now I’m dead and dreaming.” He shut his eyes, and rubbed at them with the back of his hand.

Ruby’s hand came to rest atop his. She brushed aside the dirt. And then her fingers interlocked with his. Whitaker leaned forwards. His head came to rest to rest atop Ruby’s chest. Her other hand gently caressed his hair.

Before Whitaker knew it, he was crying.

Sobbing.

Wailing.

It was an awful cry. Ugly. Hideous. It was everything Whitaker didn’t want Ruby seeing.

But.

She continued to run fingers through his hair. She continued to rub the top of his thumb with her own. She continued to breathe gently, the slow rise and fall of her chest nearly lulling Whitaker to sleep.

“You’re okay,” Ruby whispered. “It’ll be okay.”

“But I failed. I let everyone down. I disappointed—”

“Whitaker. You didn’t disappoint anyone. You didn’t let anyone down.”

He shook his head. “I let myself down. And that’s unforgivable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” she protested.

Whitaker pulled away, his cheeks stained with tears. “What do you mean?”

“It is forgivable, Whitaker. Letting people down, letting yourself down,” Ruby continued. “That’s a part of life. We can’t always appease ourselves or the people around us.”

“But—”

Ruby placed her finger over his lips.

“But nothing.” Silver eyes narrowed into thin daggers. “Do you understand?”

“Ruby, it’s not that simple—”

“It is, Witt,” she countered. “It really is that simple.” Ruby’s other hand interlocked with Whitaker’s. “When we got the news that my mom died, Dad couldn’t stop blaming himself for her death. He thought he’d disappointed me and Yang, Uncle Qrow; he believed he had to carry the burden all by himself.”

Ruby pursed her lips.

“It took  _ years _ for him to get better. And that was with everyone’s help.” She moved closer now, her eyes not leaving Whitaker’s. “I want to help you, Whitaker. And I will. But Dad didn’t get better just because of us. He got better because of himself too.” Her silver eyes softened. “It starts with a step. No matter how small, the road to getting better starts with a step. And it might take a long time. But it really is that simple.”

Ruby pressed her lips against Whitaker’s forehead.

Whitaker eased into her, his head falling forwards once more.

“Thank you, Ruby.”

The girl nodded as she returned to running her hand through Whitaker’s hair.

“Rest now, Whitaker,” Ruby breathed. “You’ve earned it.”

And slowly, calmly, in time with the brushing of Ruby’s hand in his hair, Whitaker succumbed to sleep.

####  **[;]**

Whitaker awoke to a world of pain. Every inch of his body ached, his muscles cried out in sheer exhaustion. It took extreme effort to even  _ breathe _ , and when Whitaker did breathe, it felt like a thousand spikes ran through every inhale and exhale.

Much to Whitaker’s surprise, when he attempted to stand, he could put a normal amount of weight on his right leg. It seemed that his Aura managed to heal most of the injury while he rested. But his chest, where the Beowolf had struck him, pooled with blood. Sparing what bandages his could, Whitaker quickly unzipped his coat and encased the wound with them. 

Once he finished putting his coat back on, Whitaker checked his watch.

_ 39:10 _

Another fifteen hours of rest. Whitaker took it in stride. He had no food. He was running on empty. He needed to conserve whatever energy he could spare.

Soft moonlight leaked through the Beowolf-sized hole in the ceiling, bathing the interior of the cavern with a pale light. Chiseled stone walls, cut with intricate engravings and markings across its surface, stood all around Whitaker. The walls rose to meet the glacier. Where the stone stopped, the ice rested like a bed of cold earth, separating the ruins from the glacier’s surface.

Whitaker flicked on his flashlight and further investigated the markings on the walls.

As he did so, he began to notice a pattern. Wherever there were markings of any kind, be it a line or column of them, he spotted the same sequence of writing: a crude symbol of a sword, then a fire, and then a man.

Whitaker wasn’t an expert in archaeology by any means. Nor history for that matter. But he guessed that the writings matched the age of the tomb— after all, the chances of someone having recently been inside of the tomb were rare. Extremely so. 

It was classified after all, and Whitaker was one of the four people who had known about the tomb’s whereabouts. The other three being Esmond, Ironwood, and Winter.

If Whitaker had his Scroll, he could have documented it here and now.

He turned back to where he had landed.

And he realized that the mask of the Alpha Beowolf was nowhere to be seen.

Whitaker pocketed his flashlight, and in a flash, he unleashed both sides of Lightning. Sparks crackled between the blades as he held it before him.

Cold blue eyes scanned the area.

He waited.

He stood beneath the moonlight with bated breath.

And after an eternity of nothing but the howling of wind against the ice, Whitaker loosened his grip on Lightning. He let it rest at his sides.

If the Beowolf showed up, his Semblance would come in handy now that he could actually spare the Aura to use it.

Speaking of his Semblance…

Whitaker physically shook his head free of the thought. Theories about his Semblance needed to come later. It would always be there. 

Right now, he had a ruin to explore and a mission to finish. 

####  **[;]**

The ruin was impossibly large. It sprawled, labyrinthian, throughout the glacier, so expansive to the point that Whitaker wholly believed that he was lost. Every hallway looked the same, every wall bore the same markings, and every floor and ceiling was no different than the last. 

He meandered throughout the ruins, his flashlight trained ahead of him.

_ 35:37 _

Four hours had passed in the blink of an eye. Four hours disappeared from Whitaker’s mind as the ruins seemed to bend, twist, and merge into one another, and he utterly lost himself within its halls.

_ 32:10 _

Four hours became seven.

Whitaker’s thoughts became a whirlwind of nothingness.

_ 29:49 _

Seven hours became ten.

His mind wandered its own hall, lost in its own maze.

Whitaker was aware enough to understand what was happening to him. And it scared him to death. There was nothing he could do. It was like he was merely responding to the call of a siren, letting her voice guide him through the ceaseless halls of the ruins.

No resistance. No fighting it. No light at the end of the tunnel.

Just an infinite, immeasurable void

And Whitaker stood on its precipice.

_ 27:30 _

Ten hours became twelve.

And Whitaker collapsed, and images of a sword of white steel wreathed in golden light assaulted his mind.

####  **[;]**

When he awoke, Whitaker sat before an ever-shifting weapon embedded into a stone pedestal. The sword stared back at him in silent fury, the colors within the pale metal shifting and swirling, as though a storm brewed within the metal. The guard extended out from either side of the blade, creating a crescent shape. And the blade itself, with its liquid-like visage twisting, coiling, and pooling, spilled out of the guard. 

Hands shaking, his entire being filled with hesitance, he reached out and, with a single finger, touched the white hilt of the sword. 

The blade solidified into the blade of a broadsword. One that mirrored Lightning’s blade almost perfectly.

On instinct, Whitaker’s hands fully wrapped around the hilt. But, as he did so, Whitaker realized that something about the sword felt wrong. Like he wasn’t meant to touch it, much less wield it. 

Warmth spread through his hands, and, a moment later, a spark of electricity pulsed through his veins. It shredded his Aura, and his very hands began to burn. When Whitaker attempted to let go of the sword, his hands only clenched tighter around its handle. 

A force, an energy,  _ something _ , pierced his thoughts and placed itself at the forefront of his mind.

And when it spoke, it burned Whitaker’s mind.

**_Who are you?_ **

Whitaker met his question with silence.

And his mind was incinerated.

_ I…  _ He stopped himself. But the fire that raced through him forced the words from his lips.  _ I am Whitaker Ash.  _ He tried to release the sword once again. To no avail. _ What happened? Who are you? How did I get here? _

His question was met with silence for a time. And then the voice returned, bringing with it fire and brimstone.

**_These ruins were enchanted to ensure that no one would find their way to this area. And the Lightbearer._ **

Whenever the voice spoke, it scorched Whitaker’s thoughts. It was like his brain was inside of a microwave. His vision blurred, filled with sunspots and flashes of gold and orange light. His thoughts burned, his mind smoldered, and Whitaker found it a struggle to even  _ think _ .

_ L-Lightbearer?  _ That was a new name. A weapon? It was a—

**_An artifact._ **

The burning, if only for a moment, ceased.

_ An artifact? _

**_Some would say a Relic._ **

_ A Relic? _

**_It is a potent weapon. And it seems that it has accepted you as its wielder._ **

_ Acc— Accepted me as its wielder? _

**_You survived._ **

Whitaker blinked. The inferno was gone. He attempted to release the sword once again. And this time, it worked. For a moment, he was relieved when the voice in his head didn’t appear, but that was quickly shattered.

The voice returned.  **_Why did you seek this tomb?_ **

_ I… _ Slowly, Whitaker’s thoughts clarified.  _ I came into this place as a mission assigned to me by my father. I’m training to become a Huntsman, and this was my final test before being admitted into Beacon Academy. _

**_A Huntsman…_ ** The voice’s presence momentarily disappeared.  **_Yes, I can sense your Aura, despite how thin it is. You are skilled. Well-trained and disciplined, despite being so young._ **

_ Trained by my father, what he could teach me, at least. What he couldn’t, experience and my allies taught me. _

**_You are young. But you have killed._ **

_ How… how do you know? _

**_No normal seventeen year-old boy speaks with as much conviction and courage as you do. We are linked now._ **

_ Linked? _

**_Through Lightbearer, our minds are one in the same. Our memories are one another’s, as are our thoughts and experiences._ **

_ That sounds dangerous. _

**_Normally, it would be. Yet here you stand. Which means that the danger has passed._ **

_ If we are linked _ , Whitaker began.  _ What is your name? _

**_I am Harros Vesta._ **

_ Harros Vesta? _ The hero of the Igniter’s Crusades and the Icecross War, Whitaker realized.

**_So you have heard of me. But you have not heard of Lightbearer?_ **

_ Yes. Lightbearer is a name that I have never heard before.  _ Whitaker glanced at the embedded sword. It had reverted from the broadsword to its original liquid, ever-shifting metal form.  _ Why is it doing that? _

**_The blade takes the form of a weapon its wielder is most familiar with._ ** Harros pushed himself to the very forefront of Whitaker’s mind.  **_Take the weapon now._ **

Whitaker grasped the grip of Lightbearer.

And the blade extended into a greatsword, the steel snapping into place before solidifying.

Harros stepped back.

The blade shifted back to a broadsword.

_ But I already have a weapon. _ Whitaker’s hand moved towards Lightning, but as he did so, he felt himself cringe. When his hand came to rest around the grip of the sword, it sent a static shock throughout his body and he immediately released it.

**_The burden of Lightbearer is great. And it ensures that its wielders can carry no other weapon besides itself._ **

_ Why me? When I barged into this tomb, you weren’t angry. It didn’t feel like you were angry. You were more interested than anything. _

**_Destiny would eventually find another wielder for Lightbearer. And when you arrived within the tomb’s chambers, I knew that Destiny had found another to wield the blade._ **

_ My Destiny, huh? _

**_Yes. You seem familiar with the concept._ **

_ I am. _

**_Then you understand that Lightbearer is now your Destiny. You cannot run from it. You cannot hide from it. It will always find you._ **

Images flashed through his mind.

A young girl with eyes of liquid gold, wielding a katana of moonlit steel.

A forest shrouded in fog and darkness. A sword left behind.

The girl, now a woman, standing before a Grimm that towered over its surroundings.

A flash of light. A sword returned.

A ray of brilliant energy, leaving nothing but a cloud of vanishing black dust.

Whitaker was violently pulled from the images, his senses clogged and waterlogged, his vision fluttering. He grit his teeth.

His Destiny was his own.

No one else’s.

**_You will soon see the folly in that belief._ **

_ Then I will see that folly fully realized.  _ Whitaker straightened himself.  _ Do you know the way out of this ruin? _

**_I do. But the path has been overrun by Grimm._ **

_ Definitely not an accident. _

**_I suppose not. Bring Lightbearer with you._ **

Whitaker’s hand moved on its own. He grasped the hilt of Lightbearer.

When he first touched the sword, it felt foreign, like it was designed to not fit into his hand. But now it felt  _ perfect _ . The way his fingers wrapped around the hilt, the coolness of the metal against his fingers, the weight of the blade in his hands. It all felt right. It felt natural.

He removed Lightbearer from its pedestal. _ Does it have a sheath? _

Almost as if the sword had heard him, a white sheath appeared and wrapped itself around the blade.

**_I suppose that answers your question._ **

_ That it does. Humor me for a moment, would you? _

**_What do you—_ **

Whitaker attempted to shove Harros as far back into his mind as possible. Much to his surprise, it worked. Harros, at least the weight of his presence, was gone for the moment. Whitaker, strapping Lightbearer on the opposite side of Lightning, looked past the pedestal to the stone sarcophagus that rested behind it. He moved the stand alongside the sarcophagus.

As he scanned its cover, Whitaker noticed that there was an engraving on the stone. Words. But.. they were jumbled, written in a different language, one that Whitaker had never seen before. It was nothing like the sequence of symbols that he had seen near the ruin’s entrance. This was proper writing. Unreadable by Whitaker, obviously. But it was still proper writing.

Harros returned.  **_It is where my body rests._ **

_ What does it say? _

**_“Harros Vesta, the great Silver-Eyed Firebrand, wielder of Lightbearer, may he rest here peacefully. May his actions resonate all throughout history, may his words be carried with us eternally. Rest in peace, the Uniter of Solitas.”_ **

_The Uniter of Solitas…_ _Then you really are Harros Vesta._

**_Did you doubt me?_ **

_ I did. _

Whitaker stepped away from the sarcophagus. He turned back to the entrance of the room.

_ We need to get out of this ruin. _

**_Then I suggest we do it now._ **

As if on queue, a deep howl reverberated throughout the room and the surrounding halls.

**_We have company._ **

Creeping from around the corner of the entrance, the crimson eyes, the hulking form, the pale, stark white bones that protruded from every joint of the Alpha Beowolf revealed itself. It prowled into the center of the room, a low growl escaping its lips as it stared at Whitaker with a burning vengeance.

_ It’s just like any other sword, right? _

**_It will be like your sword, Whitaker Ash._ **

Whitaker drew Lightbearer, taking pleasure in the way it snapped into the shape of a broadsword. He pointed the point towards the Alpha Beowolf. He dared it to step forward. 

A challenge. 

A promise. 

The Beowolf lunged towards him, claws extended, snarl fully formed.

Whitaker thrust his other hand forward and activated his Semblance.

He shattered time.

His vision darkened for a moment. But he began to see silver tendrils and lines extend out from the Beowolf. It surrounded the creature, almost like a field of some sort.

Whitaker’s hands closed around one of the tendrils and he pulled it.

Time slowed to an utter crawl as the Beowolf’s movement simply  _ halted _ .

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the  _ tick, tock, tick, tock _ of a clock.

One hand still grasping the tendril of time, Whitaker took Lightbearer and stabbed it straight through the Beowolf.

In but a moment, every tendril surrounding the Grimm began to splinter. And in the next moment, they dissolved into nothingness.

The ticking of the clock faded as time pressed ever onward.

And Whitaker towered over the body of the Alpha Beowolf as it too dissolved, leaving behind nothing but its mask and a small pile of black dust.

####  **[;]**

As a Centinel screeched at him, Whitaker’s hand moved on its own, slashing Lightbearer across the front of its scaled, black plates. The blade cut through it like paper. Whitaker grinned. Pleasure rolled through him as he watched the Centinel collapse to the ground and dissipate into nothing.

Whitaker let the sword rest at his side. Lightbearer illuminated the hallway, warding off the darkness and the Grimm alike.

A sea of red eyes and white masks stood before Whitaker. They did not step forward, the golden light that emanated from Lightbearer kept them at bay.

_ Why are they staying away? _

**_The Light wards off the Dark._ **

_ You mentioned that it was an artifact of some sort. A Relic. Is this Lightbearer’s power? _

**_Part of it. Yes._ **

Whitaker took a step forward. And the inky, black creatures crawled a step back.

_ They fear it. _

**_They should. The Lightbearer was meant for destroying their kind._ **

Whitaker struggled to fight back a grin.  _ Any other exciting powers it has in store for me? _

A wave of warmth rose from his fingertips to his shoulder. 

**_Yes._ **

Whitaker watched as the light that surrounded him bent, curved, and twisted to form a bubble. And the bubble orbited around him, glittering before solidifying and becoming almost completely transparent. The bubble hung around him, still visible if only faintly, shimmering like golden gossamer.

_ This will protect me? _

**_From creatures of the Dark._ **

As if on command, a nearby Beowolf leapt towards Whitaker. The Huntsman moved to dodge, but as its claws met the shield, the Light burned it away, melting the bony claws into a molten, pale liquid. Whitaker seized the moment. He drove the full length of Lightbearer into the Beowolf and twisted the blade before pulling it free.

The beast simply vanished into dust.

_ I could get used to this. _

**_And you should. Lightbearer is your Destiny now, Whitaker Ash._ **

There it was again. His Destiny. Lightbearer was his Destiny. Whitaker had to disagree. His Destiny was becoming a Huntsman, nothing more, nothing less. He pushed both the thought and Harros aside.

Deliberation would come later. He had an army of Grimm to cut through. And a new weapon to enjoy.

Whitaker cut through the Grimm in a flurry of white steel, the blade of Lightbearer whistling and singing all the while. It sliced through the creatures of Grimm and their thick hides and scales with ease, with so little resistance that Whitaker had no trouble dancing from Beowolf to Centinel as he carved through them.

But as he fought on and on, Whitaker could feel the exhaustion that coursed through him. He was fatigued. His time was ticking. The longer he fought, the less energy he would have. And after spending nearly two whole days without eating a single scrap of food… 

He twirled Lightbearer in his hand.

If he was going to die here and now, then the least he could do is go out with a bang.

From the opposite side of the Grimm, beyond the sea of inky darkness and crimson eyes, a single, golden piercer shined with the brightness of a small sun.

And beneath that sun rested eyes as red as death that burned with the promise of slaughter, of destruction, of ruin.

####  **[;]**

_ 15:13 _

From waking up to Lightbearer, meeting Harros, and fighting through the ruin to escape, Whitaker was nearing the end of his mission’s time limit. He was reminded of the mission’s conditions for success.

Finding Drone 311-B’s tracking beacon was long forgotten. From what Whitaker guessed, it was probably buried somewhere beneath all of the snow. 

Locating the ruins? Check. Documenting them? His only real proof was Lightbearer. And while it was excellent proof, Harros had warned him against telling others the extent of the blade’s powers.

_ Why? It seems like this would be an invaluable weapon against the Grimm. _

**_Not until you have mastered it. Until then, the true nature of Lightbearer must remain a secret._ **

_ That it’s an artifact? A Relic, as you called it? _

**_Precisely._ **

_ Why? Precisely, why? _

**_Lightbearer is as dangerous as it is powerful. And until you have mastered it, until you have accepted its burden with your entire being, Remnant must not know of its resurgence._ **

_ If you say so. _

And from then, Whitaker simply carried on, continuing to explore the ruins for a way out. Harros occasionally spoke up to guide him— and because of that, Whitaker could hardly figure out how far he was from an exit. Pinpointing where he was within the ruins was impossible, and Harros wasn’t inclined to give him more descriptive directions beyond telling him which way to turn at an intersection.

Frustrating as it was, there wasn’t much Whitaker could do about it.

Two hours passed slowly. And as Whitaker rounded another corner, following Harros’ direction, the Firebrand spoke up once again.

**_The exit will be at the end of this hallway._ **

Whitaker turned on his flashlight and flicked the head towards the other end of the hallway. While there was no outside light, the column of light revealed a large, circular stone door that was currently barred shut by a thick, heavy piece of wood.

_ Thanks. _

Whitaker jogged to the door. He turned his flashlight off and laid Lightbearer on the ground, letting the blade’s natural light illuminate the space for him.

Crouching down, Whitaker placed his hands on the bottom half of the wood. Tired, exhausted, and woefully underprepared as he was, for Whitaker Ash, if there was a will, there was a way. And he had plenty of fight left in him.

He grit his teeth and lifted the bar. As it crashed to the ground, it splintered and cracked into a thousand pieces. Then, with a deep shudder, the heavy, circular stone door rolled to the side and then disappeared into the wall, melding with it.

Brilliant rays of light cascaded from the world outside and into the ruin. Tiny specks of dust floated in the air, just in front of Whitaker’s vision. For what felt like the first time in forever, Whitaker breathed in fresh, cool air.

But his moment of joy was cut short by a sudden gust of frigid air that chilled his face. 

He retrieved Lightbearer, sliding the blade into its sheath.

When Whitaker stepped out of the ruins, he instantly drew his mask over his face once again. There was no blizzard, thankfully, but it was still far too cold for his comfort. The windswept landscape, cracked with ice and shaped by glaciers, stretched far and wide, beyond the horizon. As beautiful as it was, Whitaker knew just how dangerous that beauty was.

_ Still can’t believe you fought to live in a place like this. _

**_Atlas is beautiful… But you do have a point. The weather can be rather unpleasant._ **

Whitaker smirked.  _ Unpleasant is putting lightly. _

**_Dismal, then._ **

_ That sounds more like it. _

Whitaker silently thanked Harros for momentarily putting his mind at ease. As lighthearted as the banter had been, both he and Harros knew how truly dire the situation was.

He hadn’t properly rested in nearly two full days. He hadn’t eaten a single calorie since he left Atlas. He could  _ feel _ the aching throughout all of his body. He was at his wit’s end. Whitaker laughed to himself. If he wasn’t half as determined as he was, Whitaker was sure that he would have given up long ago. He’d probably be dead at the entrance to the ruins itself.

_ What now? I’m in the middle of Northern Atlas with no flares or way to communicate my location. _

**_I am not sure. Perhaps you could fashion something from a device you have?_ **

Whitaker glanced at his remaining grenades and the last clip of his M201. Maybe… Maybe if he tried tying together a fire and lightning Dust grenade. They were Atlas Military standard, they packed more of a punch than Vale’s or Mistral’s grenades.

It was better than nothing.

Whitaker readjusted the mask, fitting it tighter to his face.

He steeled his resolve.

Even though every step felt like it carried an impossible weight, even though every breath drawn was staggered and drawn with an unexplainable finality, Whitaker carried onward. He approached the highest point within the glacier valley: a sharp cliff of ice that jutted out from the snow and rose about a hundred feet.

He took the two Dust grenades and, with immense care, secured the two pins together and wrapped it in the remains of his gauze. As crude as it was, the fire and lightning Dust grenades would be volatile enough to create a fairly large explosion. With the blizzard gone and the skies utterly cloudless, Whitaker had a good chance of the makeshift flare being spotted by any nearby Bullheads that were patrolling his last known position.

If they still thought he was alive.

He sighed.

It was best not to dwell on such things.

As Whitaker staggered halfway up the cliff, a wave of nausea flooded his senses. His foot gave out beneath him, but he managed to catch himself before falling back to the ice. Falling a hundred feet would do him no favors.

He grit his teeth, fighting through his exhaustion.

His vision fluttered.

His stomach gurgled.

His entire body shuddered.

He held up the makeshift flare.

As Whitaker stared at a slowly falling snowflake, his knees buckled. 

And his consciousness drifted away.

####  **[;]**

The sky burned with colors that Whitaker had never seen before. It burned with a brilliant vermillion, a shimmering onyx, a slate green, and a luminescent indigo. He stood at the edge of a cliff that overlooked a seemingly endless ocean. The waves crashed against the rocky cliffside, rising and falling with a roar. The crescent-shaped sun rested at the end of the sea. It formed a band of liquid gold that wrapped itself around the horizon, and reflected onto the orange-colored ocean.

The gentle crunching of grass caused Whitaker to turn his head from the beautiful sight.

A man, no older than his father, approached him. With warm brown eyes, coarse black hair, and a face that echoed wisdom beyond his years, Whitaker knew who he was despite never having seen him before.

“Harros,” Whitaker said.

The man nodded.

“Where am I?”

Harros stepped up to Whitaker’s left. He brought his hands behind his back and stared out at the sea. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “A memory.”

“But I have never seen this place before.”

“It is not your memory,” Harros corrected.

“Does this have to do with us being linked?”

Harros nodded. He released his clasped hands and extended one outward, to the ocean, the palm facing towards the sky. Golden light flashed from his hand, and what was once an empty hand, now grasped the hilt of Lightbearer.

But the blade did not shift into a greatsword like Whitaker had expected.

Instead, the liquid metal flattened, curved, and sharpened to a single-edged blade.

A katana. Rare, outside of Mistral.

“I thought you used a greatsword,” Whitaker said.

“It is not my memory we are within, Whitaker,” Harros said.

“It is mine.” A new voice called from Whitaker’s right.

A woman with long, jet-black hair and shimmering, liquid gold eyes stared at Whitaker. Then, she looked to Harros. “Is this him? Lightbearer’s new wielder?”

Harros nodded.

The woman extended her hand, and as Whitaker grasped it, he felt just how calloused and rough they were. She was an experienced fighter, a Huntress, no doubt.

“I am Corinth, and like Harros and you, I wielded Lightbearer.”

Whitaker glanced between Harros and Corinth. “I thought I was only linked with Harros.”

“You are.” Corinth waved her hand. A circular table surrounded by three chairs materialized not five feet from where they all stood. “Let’s take a seat. It’ll be easier to explain it that way.”

They all moved to take a seat, and once they were situated, Whitaker looked at Corinth expectedly.

“Many men and women have wielded Lightbearer,” she began. “It has passed through the hands of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of people. All great. All powerful. All exceptional in their own right. In my time, Lightbearer was carried from every town to every village, and every able-bodied child or teen was to touch the blade, testing if it reacted to them at all.” Corinth’s hands tightened. “And when it came to me, it shaped itself into that.” She pointed to the katana in Harros’ hand. “It was considered a great honor to wield Lightbearer, a  _ blessing _ , even. They had no idea how wrong they were.”

“Wrong?” From what Whitaker had seen, Lightbearer had saved his life, and it was an incredibly powerful weapon. If anything, it was nothing but a blessing. 

“As I said before,” Harros began. “Lightbearer is powerful, more powerful than any other weapon on Remnant. But it is a great burden. More than even its wielders can comprehend.”

“A burden how?”

Harros and Corinth looked at each other.

“That is an answer you are not ready for,” Corinth said. “As it is now, you have not mastered Lightbearer. It is dormant. And it will remain that way until you have been deemed worth by Harros, myself, and every wielder of Lightbearer before you.”

“I thought I was linked to only Harros.”

Corinth shook her head. “Harros is the only wielder who can speak to you beyond a memory. But any wielder can manifest themselves within your memories. They deliver images, flashes of thoughts and even their own memories.”

Whitaker then remembered who she was. “That girl…” he murmured. “That girl that I saw when I first used Lightbearer. That was you?”

She nodded once. “I once tried to run from Lightbearer. And I suffered greatly for it.”

“Suffered how? In that memory, you wielded it just fine. And you survived for all of those years just fine.”

Corinth shook her head. “Whitaker, when I abandoned Lightbearer, I was merely a seven year-old girl. Can you imagine? Training a seven year-old to kill Grimm, to kill people?”

Whitaker shrugged. He was young when he began his training. But Corinth had a point, training a seven year-old to fight was irresponsible. “What happened after you abandoned Lightbearer?”

Corinth grimaced. “I was chased by the forces of Darkness.”

“The Grimm?”

Both Harros and Corinth shook their heads.

“Darkness,” she emphasized. “Not just the Grimm.”

“I’m not sure what I’m missing here,” Whitaker said.

Corinth pushed her chair from the table as she rose to her feet. “It is better to show you, than merely explain it to you.”

Corinth’s golden eyes flashed. 

Like dried, cracking paint, the world fell apart. 

####  **[;]**

Whitaker, like a pale wisp, floated in space as he stared at Remnant. A complete and utter darkness shrouded it. It was like a thick, choking fog that stretched across its entire surface, encasing it within a cocoon of shadow. 

In a flash of silver light, Corinth appeared beside him, her form equally as transparent and ghost-like. A moment later, Harros appeared in much the same way.

_ What is this? _

Corinth turned to him.  **The beginning of Remnant.**

_ I don’t understand. _

**Just watch, Whitaker.** With a hand made of silver smoke, Corinth pointed to the sun.

As Whitaker turned to face the beaming star, it began to glow even brighter, its light breaking the surface of the darkness. Somewhere in the distance, Whitaker could swear he heard a high-pitched whistle— like the sound of something travelling impossibly fast.

He narrowed his eyes at the sun.

As he peered closer, he saw a shape piercing the sun’s surface.

A fine tip, like the point of a sharpened blade.

Then, Whitaker saw it.

A sword made of a pale, brilliant light.

_ Lightbearer.  _ He realized.

**Yes.** Corinth confirmed.

Lightbearer flew towards Remnant.

And with the fury of a thousand burning stars, its Light pierced the Dark.

**It is the Weapon of Light.** Corinth said as they all watched the darkness burn away and reveal the inky purple and corrupted surface of Remnant.  **No creature of the Darkness can fight it. And that includes the Grimm.**

_ What other creatures of Darkness are there? _

**_Many, Whitaker._ **

_ Such as? _

Whitaker’s vision twisted into darkness, almost as if he were looking into a kaleidoscope made of only a single color. Moments later, his vision returned to normal.

He stood before an exact reflection of himself.

It was like staring straight into a mirror. When he blinked, his reflection blinked. When he waved his hand, his reflection waved his hand. But the one thing that separated him from his reflection was the vile and devilish sneer that his lips were curled into.

_ What is this? _

**A creature of Darkness known as Shadows.**

_ Who names them? _

**Previous wielders of Lightbearer. I believe this one was discovered by Harros himself.**

_ How am I supposed to fight it? _ Whitaker asked Harros.  _ It looks exactly like me. It could wreak havoc on my life if it acted as me. _

**_Except that it won’t do that._ **

_ And why not? _

**_Because it doesn’t think like that. The Darkness could care less about your social standing. It wants to kill you more than anything, and will do anything it can to achieve that._ **

_ How did you kill it? _

Harros appeared pensive for a moment.  **_When I first faced a Shadow, it was on the battlefield. My allies struggled to believe who was who. But when it came down to it, my dearest friend, Ioris, trusted my words, and cut the Shadow down where it stood._ ** He nodded once.  **_Having allies built on loyalty and mutual trust will make quick work of any Shadow._ **

_ But uneasy relationships without any trust… _

**_And your whole life will come crashing down in front of you._ ** Harros waved his hand and the Shadow vanished.

Whitaker took a moment to absorb the newfound knowledge. He was still lost. It didn’t make any sense. Lightbearer was forged by a star, and its Light was meant to fight against Darkness. Everything he had ever known was different now. Larger. Grander. It was difficult to place himself on such a plane— after all, not ten minutes ago, he was still a Huntsman-in-training who was finishing his test to be admitted into Beacon. Now…

Now he was different.

_ Why me?  _ He asked. Whitaker looked to Harros. Then to Corinth.  _ Why not someone more prepared? More ready for something like this? This is bigger than me, bigger than anyone I even know.  _ He scoffed.  _ I’m not ready for this. _

Corinth placed a wispy hand on his shoulder.  **When Lightbearer was bestowed to me, and even to Harros, neither of us believed we were ready.** She waved her other hand in the air, and Lightbearer appeared in the space before Whitaker. Its ever-shifting blade moved like liquid as it seemed to stare back at Whitaker.  **But were you not ready, Lightbearer would not have chosen you.**

_ I… I don’t understand. _

Corinth summoned a small flower. Beautiful. Intricate. Whitaker recognized it as a chrysanthemum. 

**Destiny is a strange thing, Whitaker. It can shape you. Change you. Make you better, stronger, and greater than you can even imagine.** As she spoke, the chrysanthemum multiplied, sprouting from the air around her. Its petals shifted and waved to an invisible wind as they continued to be created from nothingness. 

**But it can also ruin you. Crush you. And it can destroy everything you have ever known.** Slowly, as if poisoned by something unspeakable, the chrysanthemums wilted and died. Their petals detached. They drifted away for a time before dissipating into a dark brown dust.  **I understand your fears. Your doubts. I, and Harros as well, have gone through what you are going to as well.**

_ But I’m just a kid. I’m not even a Huntsman yet. _

**And I was seven when Lightbearer chose me. I was a fool to run away, and I wish I hadn’t. I offer you this wisdom, Whitaker: our Destiny shapes our lives, and whether you wish for it or not, Lightbearer is your Destiny now. Do not make the same mistake as I did. Do not run from your Destiny.** Corinth offered one last look at Harros, and then nodded to Whitaker.  **I must depart for now. Remember what I said, Whitaker. I urge you to give it some thought.**

And like silver dust caught in a breeze, Corinth’s form faded away.

Whitaker looked at Harros.  _ I suppose you’re going to tell me the same thing? _

Harros nodded, albeit somberly. Whitaker could see the apprehension clear on his face.  **_We wage a war against Darkness, Whitaker. That, despite all of our wishes, comes before any other duty._ **

_ But I’m a Huntsman. If I have to sacrifice lives to defeat the Darkness— _

**_We all made sacrifices, Whitaker._ ** He glanced at the ground. Glass covered his eyes. **_Some more than others._ **

Whitaker clenched his jaw.  _ I don’t trade lives. _

Harros just looked at him sadly. **_You will learn to._ **

And much like Corinth, Harros dissipated into the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter. Lots of worldbuilding and expositional drops here. And more characterization of Whitaker. Next update sometime in the middle of October. Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment or give some kudos if you enjoyed it.


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